I've been busy with work and the book lately, so some of this is old-ish, but Dammits there must be!
Dammit #1:
A couple of weeks ago, Gwendomama informed me that the account for the Palin Baby Name Generator had been suspended. Big rude Dammit.
Dammit #2:
The first time I attempted to type those words (above), my computer locked up after "Palin Baby Name Generator." I couldn't even force quit Firefox; I had to shut down and start over.
Dammit #3:
Charlotte goes to school in Palo Alto twice a week from 9-12:00. If I went home after dropping her off, I'd lose an hour of work time between the trip home and back again. So instead, I go to the Peet's two blocks from her school and work there. That's not the Dammit.
Every Thursday and many, many Tuesdays, a group of people from a local gym comes in to chat, drink coffee and hang out for an hour or so. That's not the Dammit, either.
The first to arrive is the lone guy, probably in his mid-fifties, in relatively good shape. Which one is forced to note because he wears very tight spandex (no, not redundant in this case) with a short jacket. That would be the Dammit.
The only good thing about this guy is that I am reminded of one of my all-time favorite TV moments: Will and Jack (of Will & Grace) are sunning themselves on the deck of Karen's yacht. Karen walks by, stops:
"Will--two things . . . "
"Yes?"
"When you sit like that I can see your man-berries."
Dammit #4:
The squirrels are going crazy this year. They have dotted my lawn with divots, tucking an acorn into each. When I mow the lawn, they scream at me from the fence and the trees. They aren't at all shy about coming into the yard or sitting on the play structure, glaring as I do the pruning, weeding and edging; and think next to nothing of it when I walk toward--or run at--them.
Hopefully the Farmers' Almanac is right about increased squirrel activity being a sign of a bad (wet) winter.
Dammit #5:
Speaking of winter: I had to turn on the heat this morning. Only for an hour or so, but still—I had to turn on the heat. And to think only a couple of months ago I was wondering if the summer would ever end.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Thursday, October 09, 2008
MORE Randomness
Because I have too much going on for a real post:
Has anyone else noticed that, now that McCain/Pain (no, not a typo) is doing so very poorly, their campaign seems to think it's time not only for the boots to go on and the gloves off, but that it's time for the Palin to put on the bitch boots AND let down the hair? Looks a little sexier, no? Maybe part of the reason that her approval numbers are still high (relatively speaking) among men.
Hopefully the McCain campaign has given up the woman vote now that they've realized that our ovaries are smarter than they are.
Has anyone else noticed that, now that McCain/Pain (no, not a typo) is doing so very poorly, their campaign seems to think it's time not only for the boots to go on and the gloves off, but that it's time for the Palin to put on the bitch boots AND let down the hair? Looks a little sexier, no? Maybe part of the reason that her approval numbers are still high (relatively speaking) among men.
Hopefully the McCain campaign has given up the woman vote now that they've realized that our ovaries are smarter than they are.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Random Thought to Begin the Week
If by some twist of cosmic insanity McCain/Pain wins the election, perhaps Starbucks will be good enough to start printing foreign policy tidbits on its cups so that the Palin can at least try to get it right.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
I Still Heart Joe Biden
And that's all I have to say about that.
Oh, except that I still . . . . um . . . don't heart the Palin ("abhor" is such a harsh word, no?)
Oh, except that I still . . . . um . . . don't heart the Palin ("abhor" is such a harsh word, no?)
National Security Mom--a Review
I was fortunate enough to receive early galleys for a new book by Gina M. Bennett, a 20-year veteran of the US Intelligence Community and mother of five children. National Security Mom: Why “Going Soft” Will Make America Strong takes the complicated issues involved in our national security, particularly in the “post 9/11 world,” and distills them into easily digestible pieces. The book’s unique twist is how Ms. Bennett relates the issues of national security to what goes on in a typical family. That the values that we learned as children and, as parents, are instilling in our own children, are the very same values needed to run government and handle some of the complex issues involved in national security, such as:
• Tell the truth
• If you make the mess, you clean it up
• Don’t give in to a bully
• Choose your friends wisely
• Learn from your mistakes
And of course, the job description for parents also requires an in-depth knowledge of issues such as crisis management, conflict resolution, budgeting and diplomacy.
So why aren’t there more women in government? On paper, many women—especially mothers—are uniquely suited to participating in government, on whatever level they choose. There are of course other qualifications that must be met—particularly for higher office—but there should be more women serving on city counsels, as mayors, as governors and in Congress. Ms. Bennett pulls this telling statistic from the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University:
“In 2008 women hold only 16.3% of the seats in Congress; 16% of the Senate seats; 23.5% of the statewide elective executive offices across the country; 23.7% of the state legislative positions; and of the mayors of the hundred largest cities in America, only eleven are women.”
She also notes that “We can blame history, the educational system, men, and many other underlying factors for why this is the case. But we also have to ask ourselves whether our disengagement perpetuates the myth that men are somehow more naturally suited to govern.”
Sure, some days we barely have time to do the laundry and the grocery shopping—where on earth are we going to find time to volunteer at our child’s school, much less to run for elected office? I work from home part-time and have only been able to volunteer in my daughter’s classroom once. And she’s in first grade, so that’s two years of not being able to find the time.
Because we are living in the “post 9/11 world,” Ms. Bennett tackles some of the larger questions that relate directly to her argument that more women, more mothers should be in government:
• How much personal freedom are we willing to give up in the name of “security”?
• How do we protect our children while making sure that they enjoy the freedoms granted in the Bill of Rights—freedoms we used to take for granted?
• The terrorists win if we to afraid to go about our lives as usual. They are generally unpopular even in their own countries and feed off the fear and attention they engender.
And as to the title’s assertion “Why ‘Going Soft’ Will Make America Strong,”
“[in matters of national security, foreign policy and counter terrorism] Anything other than belligerent speech is considered to be weak . . . [but] strength and security come from more than just physical might . . . I believe that to resolve problems, we have to understand them first. I prefer to believe that American policies have had bad results in some places rather than sticking my head in the sand. . . . I believe it demonstrates more courage to allow people whose beliefs you reject to have their say; it takes more integrity to admit you’ve made mistakes; and it takes far more strength to reject change in the face of a threat. I am a mother and that is the strength I know. That is the definition of strength that I will pass to my children so that they understand that there is a balance.”
Of course, all of this got me thinking. I’ve been a stay-at-home, work-from-home mom for the past six years. In six years I’ve spent a lot of time in playgroups, at the playground and on play dates. And I’ve never ceased to be amazed at the sheer number of women who don’t think that politics has anything to do with them. But everything that happens in government—from the local, to the state, to the national level has ripples of consequence.
Imagine that you’re at the park with your child. You go the lake to feed the ducks and your child tosses a rock into the pond. Watch what happens to the ripples. That’s politics. And what’s at stake? The laws that are passed effect your family; the judiciary, both elected and appointed, and how they interpret those laws; the military—will the draft be reinstated, and where will our soldiers—our sons and daughters—be sent?; the national debt—will our kids and grandchildren really be paying for our excesses? All of it affects us every day.
Lately I’ve noticed that many women in my citywide Mothers’ Club have become actively involved in issues such as city planning, in the city education fund, and the Special Education Parent Teacher Association (SEPTAR), which was started by a few mothers worried that their child’s needs weren’t being met.
But what about me? I am the ultimate armchair political junkie. If I don’t get an hourly fix—or at least several times a day—I start twitching. There’s a little panic: What happened? Something must have happened in the time I’ve been away from my computer. But, other than haranguing friends and a few strangers, and writing a few letters to the editor, I’m a passive audience. I hear “Are you going to get involved? Maybe run for office?” and my answer is always “No.*” I don’t have the time, the mental capacity, the self-confidence, or the ambition. All of those things that I imagine politicians need to be successful. But then I’ve always thought being involved in government meant running for city counsel and higher. It never occurred to me to start smaller—the PTA? A position on the board of one of my groups?
But after reading National Security Mom, I’m at least thinking about it.
Because being more involved does matter. To me, to my family, to my children’s future.
*My one exception was helping with a letter writing campaign for Mark Warner when he was running for Governor of Virginia.
• Tell the truth
• If you make the mess, you clean it up
• Don’t give in to a bully
• Choose your friends wisely
• Learn from your mistakes
And of course, the job description for parents also requires an in-depth knowledge of issues such as crisis management, conflict resolution, budgeting and diplomacy.
So why aren’t there more women in government? On paper, many women—especially mothers—are uniquely suited to participating in government, on whatever level they choose. There are of course other qualifications that must be met—particularly for higher office—but there should be more women serving on city counsels, as mayors, as governors and in Congress. Ms. Bennett pulls this telling statistic from the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University:
“In 2008 women hold only 16.3% of the seats in Congress; 16% of the Senate seats; 23.5% of the statewide elective executive offices across the country; 23.7% of the state legislative positions; and of the mayors of the hundred largest cities in America, only eleven are women.”
She also notes that “We can blame history, the educational system, men, and many other underlying factors for why this is the case. But we also have to ask ourselves whether our disengagement perpetuates the myth that men are somehow more naturally suited to govern.”
Sure, some days we barely have time to do the laundry and the grocery shopping—where on earth are we going to find time to volunteer at our child’s school, much less to run for elected office? I work from home part-time and have only been able to volunteer in my daughter’s classroom once. And she’s in first grade, so that’s two years of not being able to find the time.
Because we are living in the “post 9/11 world,” Ms. Bennett tackles some of the larger questions that relate directly to her argument that more women, more mothers should be in government:
• How much personal freedom are we willing to give up in the name of “security”?
• How do we protect our children while making sure that they enjoy the freedoms granted in the Bill of Rights—freedoms we used to take for granted?
• The terrorists win if we to afraid to go about our lives as usual. They are generally unpopular even in their own countries and feed off the fear and attention they engender.
And as to the title’s assertion “Why ‘Going Soft’ Will Make America Strong,”
“[in matters of national security, foreign policy and counter terrorism] Anything other than belligerent speech is considered to be weak . . . [but] strength and security come from more than just physical might . . . I believe that to resolve problems, we have to understand them first. I prefer to believe that American policies have had bad results in some places rather than sticking my head in the sand. . . . I believe it demonstrates more courage to allow people whose beliefs you reject to have their say; it takes more integrity to admit you’ve made mistakes; and it takes far more strength to reject change in the face of a threat. I am a mother and that is the strength I know. That is the definition of strength that I will pass to my children so that they understand that there is a balance.”
Of course, all of this got me thinking. I’ve been a stay-at-home, work-from-home mom for the past six years. In six years I’ve spent a lot of time in playgroups, at the playground and on play dates. And I’ve never ceased to be amazed at the sheer number of women who don’t think that politics has anything to do with them. But everything that happens in government—from the local, to the state, to the national level has ripples of consequence.
Imagine that you’re at the park with your child. You go the lake to feed the ducks and your child tosses a rock into the pond. Watch what happens to the ripples. That’s politics. And what’s at stake? The laws that are passed effect your family; the judiciary, both elected and appointed, and how they interpret those laws; the military—will the draft be reinstated, and where will our soldiers—our sons and daughters—be sent?; the national debt—will our kids and grandchildren really be paying for our excesses? All of it affects us every day.
Lately I’ve noticed that many women in my citywide Mothers’ Club have become actively involved in issues such as city planning, in the city education fund, and the Special Education Parent Teacher Association (SEPTAR), which was started by a few mothers worried that their child’s needs weren’t being met.
But what about me? I am the ultimate armchair political junkie. If I don’t get an hourly fix—or at least several times a day—I start twitching. There’s a little panic: What happened? Something must have happened in the time I’ve been away from my computer. But, other than haranguing friends and a few strangers, and writing a few letters to the editor, I’m a passive audience. I hear “Are you going to get involved? Maybe run for office?” and my answer is always “No.*” I don’t have the time, the mental capacity, the self-confidence, or the ambition. All of those things that I imagine politicians need to be successful. But then I’ve always thought being involved in government meant running for city counsel and higher. It never occurred to me to start smaller—the PTA? A position on the board of one of my groups?
But after reading National Security Mom, I’m at least thinking about it.
Because being more involved does matter. To me, to my family, to my children’s future.
*My one exception was helping with a letter writing campaign for Mark Warner when he was running for Governor of Virginia.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
And Now, A Time Out From Politics
Thomas and the girls and I went on a little road trip this summer up into Canada. A few other things got in the way, so I haven't posted the photos yet, but I keep going back to this very short video of a stream on the Athabasca Glacier, part of the Columbia Icefield. It just makes all of the messiness of life seem so very far away.
Don't watch if running water makes you have to pee!
Don't watch if running water makes you have to pee!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
New Favorite Name for The Palin
From a column by Charles M. Blow of the New York Times:
The rest of the column is good too, but I'll let you check it out on your own.
A big thanks to GoBecky, or I would have missed it!
Mr. McCain, on Monday you repeated your delusional notion that the fundamentals of the economy are strong. Now, the federal government is working on a deal to save that economy from collapsing. You have admitted that the economy is not your forte, so you could have used a running mate with some financial chops. (Remember Mitt Romney?)
But no. Who did you pick? SnowJob SquareGlasses whose financial credentials include running Wasilla into debt, listing (but not selling) a plane on EBay and flip-flopping on a bridge to wherever. In fact, when it comes to real issues in general, she may prove to be a liability.
The rest of the column is good too, but I'll let you check it out on your own.
A big thanks to GoBecky, or I would have missed it!
Friday, September 19, 2008
The Dammit
Dammit #1:
In addition to her other sins, The Palin has decided to skip California, thus robbing me of my very first protest rally.
Dammit #2:
I used to like John McCain. Not enough to vote for him, but he at least seemed a decent, honorable man. I think he's going to need a food-taster, though (see #3).
Dammit #3:
I am spending way too much time following this campaign, but the thought of a McCain/Palin administration (or what, in recent days, she has repeatedly referred to as a "Palin/McCain administration") literally turns my stomach.
Dammit #4:
I'm a little hypomanic (is that like being a little pregnant?) but without focus. Hyperactive, not much work product to show for it.
In addition to her other sins, The Palin has decided to skip California, thus robbing me of my very first protest rally.
Dammit #2:
I used to like John McCain. Not enough to vote for him, but he at least seemed a decent, honorable man. I think he's going to need a food-taster, though (see #3).
Dammit #3:
I am spending way too much time following this campaign, but the thought of a McCain/Palin administration (or what, in recent days, she has repeatedly referred to as a "Palin/McCain administration") literally turns my stomach.
Dammit #4:
I'm a little hypomanic (is that like being a little pregnant?) but without focus. Hyperactive, not much work product to show for it.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
What's in a Name? Ask the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator!
Over the past two weeks, I've wondered about the origins of the names of Sarah Palin's children. And why, exactly, Sarah and Todd Palin named their children after an oil company, a small airplane, the place where one might have conceived one of the little darlings and an abbreviation of a math discipline.
Not to worry: It truly was idle, mind-wandering stuff and not something I'd spend a lot of time on. But someone did! And now you can discover your very own Palin name--well the one you might have had, had you been born in Alaska to a Vice Presidential wannabe. Polit Tsk Tsk Tsk has created the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator: Enter your real name and the Baby Name Genrator will spit out the Palinized version.
Mean spirited? Perhaps. But I think we can all use a little humor. A small distraction. A little light through the cloud of lies.
Enjoy, and let me know what your Palinized name is!
Mine? Grill Igloo Palin. Oh, dear.
Not to worry: It truly was idle, mind-wandering stuff and not something I'd spend a lot of time on. But someone did! And now you can discover your very own Palin name--well the one you might have had, had you been born in Alaska to a Vice Presidential wannabe. Polit Tsk Tsk Tsk has created the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator: Enter your real name and the Baby Name Genrator will spit out the Palinized version.
Mean spirited? Perhaps. But I think we can all use a little humor. A small distraction. A little light through the cloud of lies.
Enjoy, and let me know what your Palinized name is!
Mine? Grill Igloo Palin. Oh, dear.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Operation Wake Up Call
I don't want to say I'm panicking about the election--yet--but I will say that the thought of another four years of the Bush nightmare scares the proverbial pants off. And I am seriously unnerved by the thought of another election "won" by the Republican Party because a sizable portion of the US population decides to stay home on election day and then spends the next four years bitching about the results.
While I'd like to say I don't have a bias, left or right, that would make me as big a liar as . . . well, never mind that for now. But wherever you fall on the spectrum, there is no excuse for not voting. If you can't physically make it to the polls, you can vote absentee. Don't want to miss work? Go early; go late. Have kids? Take them; it's a great lesson. Can't be bothered to wait for 20 minutes, or even an hour? Eff that. People have waited for years. It's your right; it is a privilege; it is your duty. And now it has become an imperative.
Announcing Operation Wake Up Call.
On November 4, 2008, I'm asking you to get up early. Call your family members. Call your friends and neighbors. Call your co-workers, your teachers, your students, your dry cleaner. Tweet them. Email them. Whoever you think might need a little nudge to get to the polls. A gentle reminder will do: No preaching. No pushing last minute arguments for a particular candidate. Just remind them to make the time to vote.
According to the US Census Bureau, in 2004 64% of the US population eligible to vote did so. This was up from 60% in 2000. Good, but we can do better.
While I'd like to say I don't have a bias, left or right, that would make me as big a liar as . . . well, never mind that for now. But wherever you fall on the spectrum, there is no excuse for not voting. If you can't physically make it to the polls, you can vote absentee. Don't want to miss work? Go early; go late. Have kids? Take them; it's a great lesson. Can't be bothered to wait for 20 minutes, or even an hour? Eff that. People have waited for years. It's your right; it is a privilege; it is your duty. And now it has become an imperative.
Announcing Operation Wake Up Call.
On November 4, 2008, I'm asking you to get up early. Call your family members. Call your friends and neighbors. Call your co-workers, your teachers, your students, your dry cleaner. Tweet them. Email them. Whoever you think might need a little nudge to get to the polls. A gentle reminder will do: No preaching. No pushing last minute arguments for a particular candidate. Just remind them to make the time to vote.
According to the US Census Bureau, in 2004 64% of the US population eligible to vote did so. This was up from 60% in 2000. Good, but we can do better.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I Think I'm Going to Be Sick
John McCain, who promised to run a clean campaign, has apparently approved a new TV ad that says Barack Obama's one accomplishment on education is authoring "'Legislation to teach 'comprehensive sex education' to kindergartners. Learning about sex before learning to read? Barack Obama. Wrong on education. Wrong for your family."'
According to Margaret Talev of McClatchy newspapers:
In "Post Partisan" blog on washingtonpost.com, E.J Dionne rightly asks "Does the truth matter anymore?"
According to Margaret Talev of McClatchy newspapers:
"This is a deliberately misleading accusation. It came hours after the Obama campaign released a TV ad critical of McCain's votes on public education. As a state senator in Illinois, Obama did vote for but was not a sponsor of legislation dealing with sex ed for grades K-12.Ms. Talev also quotes Obama's spokesman, Bill Burton: "It is shameful and downright perverse for the McCain campaign to use a bill that was written to protect young children from sexual predators as a recycled and discredited political attack against a father of two young girls."But the legislation allowed local school boards to teach "age-appropriate" sex education, not comprehensive lessons to kindergartners, and it gave schools the ability to warn young children about inappropriate touching and sexual predators."
In "Post Partisan" blog on washingtonpost.com, E.J Dionne rightly asks "Does the truth matter anymore?"
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Monday, September 08, 2008
Left Coast Mom Goes Retail
After watching the Palin's speech last week, I thought of something funny. And then I thought "That would make a great t-shirt!" So I opened a CafePress store and now you can show me some love and buy my t-shirt. Don't worry, I'm not actually going to make much money on them. Maybe a couple of extra trips to Peet's. Unless of course you buy a couple and then tell your friends, and then they buy a couple . . . Which would be perfect because I really just want to see this t-shirt on every woman in the Bay area. Of course, "on every woman in the country" would be even better!
Friday, September 05, 2008
The Dammit
I can't really call it "The Weekly Dammit" anymore, now can I?
You might be surprised to find that none of the Dammits this week are about The Palin. I need to take a leeetle break from it because I'm too young for a heart attack. I'll get to it later (as well as sharing the t-shirt I created at Cafe Press); in the meantime, there are a few other Dammits to be had.
Dammit #1:
I can't listen to NPR in the car right now because I don't want Charlotte's next phrase to be "effing liar!"
Dammit #2:
Bras. I will freely admit that I am not what you would call well endowed. At all. But why can't I find a nice bra that doesn't come with all of the padding? I want a bra, not a chin rest.
Dammit #3:
My cup runneth over with work right now. This might seem like a good thing--and it is! it is!--but it all seems to be due at once. Well, all but my own manuscript, which I'm starting to feel a bit desperate about. I have an estimate and time line due for a website I've been hired to (re)write--as well as actually starting on the content; an Advanced Reading copy of a book that I promised to read and review; and the promise of two other jobs in the next 2-4 weeks. Wah, right? But add to this swim lessons, ballet, school, speech therapy and play dates for the girls and I'm starting to run out of hours in the day.
Dammit #4:
I'm supposed to schedule another mammogram, which will be my fourth (I think). My mother had breast cancer twice (and two different types) and a couple of aunts had it as well. So I had my first a couple of years ago, and then two more over the next year because there was some abnormal tissue they wanted to keep an eye on. It turned out to be nothing, but the experience was not something I'm looking forward to repeating. So I'm procrastinating. I do have all of that work, after all (see above).
Dammit #5:
There are two dog poops left in a unused part of the yard. I have yet to remove them because it's all I have left of Argus. But at least telling Hannah that yesterday was enough to make her stop crying because her "best friend" is gone and she'll never see him again.
You might be surprised to find that none of the Dammits this week are about The Palin. I need to take a leeetle break from it because I'm too young for a heart attack. I'll get to it later (as well as sharing the t-shirt I created at Cafe Press); in the meantime, there are a few other Dammits to be had.
Dammit #1:
I can't listen to NPR in the car right now because I don't want Charlotte's next phrase to be "effing liar!"
Dammit #2:
Bras. I will freely admit that I am not what you would call well endowed. At all. But why can't I find a nice bra that doesn't come with all of the padding? I want a bra, not a chin rest.
Dammit #3:
My cup runneth over with work right now. This might seem like a good thing--and it is! it is!--but it all seems to be due at once. Well, all but my own manuscript, which I'm starting to feel a bit desperate about. I have an estimate and time line due for a website I've been hired to (re)write--as well as actually starting on the content; an Advanced Reading copy of a book that I promised to read and review; and the promise of two other jobs in the next 2-4 weeks. Wah, right? But add to this swim lessons, ballet, school, speech therapy and play dates for the girls and I'm starting to run out of hours in the day.
Dammit #4:
I'm supposed to schedule another mammogram, which will be my fourth (I think). My mother had breast cancer twice (and two different types) and a couple of aunts had it as well. So I had my first a couple of years ago, and then two more over the next year because there was some abnormal tissue they wanted to keep an eye on. It turned out to be nothing, but the experience was not something I'm looking forward to repeating. So I'm procrastinating. I do have all of that work, after all (see above).
Dammit #5:
There are two dog poops left in a unused part of the yard. I have yet to remove them because it's all I have left of Argus. But at least telling Hannah that yesterday was enough to make her stop crying because her "best friend" is gone and she'll never see him again.
Hannah-ism
Sunday mornings are "pancake day" at our house. Thomas gets up early(ish) and makes a huge stack of pancakes while the girls supervise and nibble on the test pancakes. But this past Sunday Thomas was out for a long run (training for his first half marathon!), so I said:
"I guess it's my turn to make the pancakes this week!"
To which Hannah replied, with what sounded like complete sincerity:
"Oh Mom! You make the best black pancakes EVER!"
"I guess it's my turn to make the pancakes this week!"
To which Hannah replied, with what sounded like complete sincerity:
"Oh Mom! You make the best black pancakes EVER!"
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Live Mic, Republican Style!
Republican strategist Mike Murphy and Peggy Noonan on The Palin*:
Thomas sent to this me from ClusterFlock, who got it via TalkingPointsMemo. TPM thoughtfully included the transcript:
* Like all other hurricanes, the Palin only needs one name.
Thomas sent to this me from ClusterFlock, who got it via TalkingPointsMemo. TPM thoughtfully included the transcript:
Chuck Todd: Mike Murphy, lots of free advice, we'll see if Steve Schmidt and the boys were watching. We'll find out on your blackberry. Tonight voters will get their chance to hear from Sarah Palin and she will get the chance to show voters she's the right woman for the jobUp next, one man who's already convinced and he'll us why Gov. Jon Huntsman. (cut away)
Peggy Noonan: Yeah.
Mike Murphy: You know, because I come out of the blue swing state governor world: Engler, Whitman, Tommy Thompson, Mitt Romney, Jeb Bush. I mean, these guys -- this is how you win a Texas race, just run it up. And it's not gonna work. And --
PN: It's over.
MM: Still McCain can give a version of the Lieberman speech to do himself some good.
CT: I also think the Palin pick is insulting to Kay Bailey Hutchinson, too.
PN: Saw Kay this morning.
CT: Yeah, she's never looked comfortable about this --
MM: They're all bummed out.
CT: Yeah, I mean is she really the most qualified woman they could have turned to?
PN: The most qualified? No! I think they went for this -- excuse me-- political bullshit about narratives --
CT: Yeah they went to a narrative.
MM: I totally agree.
PN: Every time the Republicans do that, because that's not where they live and it's not what they're good at, they blow it.
MM: You know what's really the worst thing about it? The greatness of McCain is no cynicism, and this is cynical.
CT: This is cynical, and as you called it, gimmicky.
MM: Yeah.
* Like all other hurricanes, the Palin only needs one name.
Fun With Political Signage
I just saw a McCain/Palin banner and, the way it was stacked (and because I'm getting old and my eyes play tricks on me), I initially read it as "McCain/Pain."
And hey! it rhymes, too!
And hey! it rhymes, too!
Random Question for the Week
I know I'm gonna hear it for this one, but:
Why is that that, whenever anything ill befalls the nation, certain people on the right are prone to say that it's because God is mad at us? Mad for pushing him out of the public square (e.g.: school and government); annoyed at the advancement of gay rights; pissed off at feminists; still ticked that someone somewhen thought that "puce" was a great name for a color; or some other random act of mad-ness directed at the lefties.
Why is it never that God is displeased with the red team? Hurricane Gustav was predicted to come aground almost three years to the day, in pretty nearly the same location as Katrina--guaranteeing that it would interrupt the opening of the Republican Convention. So why wasn't that interpreted as a hint that the Almighty wasn't happy with the way the red team was managing things (including the shameful way in which the Bush administration left New Orleans to its fate three years ago)?
Because that would be stupid. And because you only play the God card when it serves your own purpose or if you're actually dumb enough to think God cares about your football/baseball/hockey/racing team. Oh, wait . . .
Why is that that, whenever anything ill befalls the nation, certain people on the right are prone to say that it's because God is mad at us? Mad for pushing him out of the public square (e.g.: school and government); annoyed at the advancement of gay rights; pissed off at feminists; still ticked that someone somewhen thought that "puce" was a great name for a color; or some other random act of mad-ness directed at the lefties.
Why is it never that God is displeased with the red team? Hurricane Gustav was predicted to come aground almost three years to the day, in pretty nearly the same location as Katrina--guaranteeing that it would interrupt the opening of the Republican Convention. So why wasn't that interpreted as a hint that the Almighty wasn't happy with the way the red team was managing things (including the shameful way in which the Bush administration left New Orleans to its fate three years ago)?
Because that would be stupid. And because you only play the God card when it serves your own purpose or if you're actually dumb enough to think God cares about your football/baseball/hockey/racing team. Oh, wait . . .
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
I (Still) Heart Joe Biden
Beau Biden's introduction of his father to accept the nomination for VP. You probably already know the story, but get a tissue anyway.
Joe's (what, you didn't know we're on first-name terms?) office has been sending me copies of his speeches for over two years now. I hope the next mailing includes a copy of Beau's speech as well as his father's.
(And when Beau speaks of his "other duties" he is referring to his upcoming deployment to Iraq.)
And, while it should go without saying, Joe's speech was pretty damn good, too:
Joe's (what, you didn't know we're on first-name terms?) office has been sending me copies of his speeches for over two years now. I hope the next mailing includes a copy of Beau's speech as well as his father's.
(And when Beau speaks of his "other duties" he is referring to his upcoming deployment to Iraq.)
And, while it should go without saying, Joe's speech was pretty damn good, too:
Random Question for the Week
Why does my University Alumni Association send me three pieces of mail in the same day? They want money (duh) but they're wasting it by not consolidating.
Better question, and posed before by a comedian whose name I forget: Why hasn't anyone asked Bin Laden's university's Office of Giving to smoke him out? Mine has found me through at least five moves.
Better question, and posed before by a comedian whose name I forget: Why hasn't anyone asked Bin Laden's university's Office of Giving to smoke him out? Mine has found me through at least five moves.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Will This Cursed Month Never End?
As you're probably already aware, other than the first nine days, August has not turned out to be a great month for me. It's not the first time, either. In August of 1998, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer; three of my brothers were in a plane crash that killed two of them, as well as the fiancée of the third. And then Thomas almost died after his lungs collapsed.
Fast-forward 10 years: Argus died, followed by my mother less than a week later. The timing forced my brother to fly on the 10th anniversary of the crash. My mother was buried on what would have been her 47th wedding anniversary. And I got to spend excessive amounts of time with family members I don't ever see anymore. In some cases, these are people I don't want to see anymore.
But I did get to spend time with my brother and sister and their families--always fun—and before we came home from Virginia, we were able to spend a really lovely day with Thomas' parents. Other than a higher than normal level of stress, I thought I was doing ok. But the stress level is not really abating and it certainly didn't help that one of our neighbors called code enforcement on the chickens. That's right: at lunch time yesterday, the nice man from code enforcement came by because one of our neighbors called to say that we had roosters--not allowed in the city--rather than hens, which are.
And ridiculous though it may be, that seems to have been, if not the last straw that the camel could bear, then perilously close to it. My temper is razor thin. Last night I was having trouble drawing a full breath. I’m stress eating, and we’re not talking carrots. I can’t stay awake, but when I actually manage to stay asleep, it’s most definitely not restful. And now I have that sick and sinking feeling that generally precedes a need to go to bed and stay there for a month.
I’m certain that, at least in part, it’s the guilt I feel for not being more strongly affected by my mother’s death. Or because I didn’t recognize the person they were eulogizing; the woman that my older sister spoke of, her voice heavy with tears. Why I didn’t know that mother whose death caused my brothers to weep. And now I’m left wondering if that person truly existed and, if so, why I didn’t make a stronger effort to get to know her.
The stress, irritability and depression are familiar demons and I’ll fight them, of course. I always do, though when so much seems to come at once, it’s oh, so much harder.
Fast-forward 10 years: Argus died, followed by my mother less than a week later. The timing forced my brother to fly on the 10th anniversary of the crash. My mother was buried on what would have been her 47th wedding anniversary. And I got to spend excessive amounts of time with family members I don't ever see anymore. In some cases, these are people I don't want to see anymore.
But I did get to spend time with my brother and sister and their families--always fun—and before we came home from Virginia, we were able to spend a really lovely day with Thomas' parents. Other than a higher than normal level of stress, I thought I was doing ok. But the stress level is not really abating and it certainly didn't help that one of our neighbors called code enforcement on the chickens. That's right: at lunch time yesterday, the nice man from code enforcement came by because one of our neighbors called to say that we had roosters--not allowed in the city--rather than hens, which are.
And ridiculous though it may be, that seems to have been, if not the last straw that the camel could bear, then perilously close to it. My temper is razor thin. Last night I was having trouble drawing a full breath. I’m stress eating, and we’re not talking carrots. I can’t stay awake, but when I actually manage to stay asleep, it’s most definitely not restful. And now I have that sick and sinking feeling that generally precedes a need to go to bed and stay there for a month.
I’m certain that, at least in part, it’s the guilt I feel for not being more strongly affected by my mother’s death. Or because I didn’t recognize the person they were eulogizing; the woman that my older sister spoke of, her voice heavy with tears. Why I didn’t know that mother whose death caused my brothers to weep. And now I’m left wondering if that person truly existed and, if so, why I didn’t make a stronger effort to get to know her.
The stress, irritability and depression are familiar demons and I’ll fight them, of course. I always do, though when so much seems to come at once, it’s oh, so much harder.
Friday, August 22, 2008
In Memoriam
O Great Spirit,
Whose breath gives life to the world
and whose voice is heard in
the soft breeze,
We need your strength and wisdom
that we may walk in beauty.
May our eyes
ever behold the red and
purple sunset
Make us wise so that we may
understand what you have taught us
Help us learn the lessons you
have hidden in every leaf
and rock
Make us always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes
so when life fades, as the
fading sunset,
our spirits may come to you
without shame.
For:
Bill Murphy, October 9, 1966- August 22, 1998
Steven Murphy, September 14, 1975-August 22, 1998
Whose breath gives life to the world
and whose voice is heard in
the soft breeze,
We need your strength and wisdom
that we may walk in beauty.
May our eyes
ever behold the red and
purple sunset
Make us wise so that we may
understand what you have taught us
Help us learn the lessons you
have hidden in every leaf
and rock
Make us always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes
so when life fades, as the
fading sunset,
our spirits may come to you
without shame.
For:
Bill Murphy, October 9, 1966- August 22, 1998
Steven Murphy, September 14, 1975-August 22, 1998
This Native American Call to Prayer was read at the memorial service for my brother Michael's fiancee, who also died in the accident.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
And One of These Days . . .
I'm going to be able to do a few posts--With Photos!--on our vacation. Sadly there's obviously a lot more caca going on. But soon. I promise.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Of Mothers and Daughters
The relationship between mothers and their daughters has provided inspiration for countless movies, novels and memoirs--something I totally get. I don't have much of a relationship with my mother; to be honest, for the past couple of years, I've had none at all. It's true, that old saying, "You can choose your friends but not your family." For my mother and me, a good relationship was never going to happen. From the beginning, we seemed to have wildly divergent interests, beliefs and values.
When asked why our relationship devolved so drastically--to the point that I've spoken to her for a total of three minutes in over a year--the only answer I really have is that I got tired of being disappointed. With a few exceptions, Mom never seemed that interested in what was going on in my life, especially once I was married. There was never what most people would consider an appropriate level of interest or excitement when Hannah and Charlotte were born, in their milestones, or even when I finally told her about everything that Charlotte had been going through. Instead, our very short conversations always turned back to Mom and her health issues.
Of course I was concerned about her, but more and more dismayed at what I saw as a shocking lack of curiosity about any condition or treatment mentioned by her doctors. Every time she called I would have to Google a diagnosis or a new list of symptoms. And she never seemed that interested in my girls, or in my sister's, something I found to be both unfathomable and inexcusable. But this of course is only how it appeared to me. After all, there are always two sides to a story. Perhaps she thought the same of me. Perhaps she was disappointed in her daughter. Perhaps I was just never able to understand and appreciate her view of the world.
Earlier today, Hannah asked me why she didn't ever see "Other Grandma."
"Is it because she was mean to you?"
"No, of course not. She lives on the East coast and we just don't really, well, we just don't talk that much anymore."
"Why?"
"Well, we just don't have that much in common, and we're all so busy . . . "
There was no way I was going to tell her the whole bit about being tired of being disappointed, sad that my mother never called to check in, didn't send birthday cards or any of that grandmotherly stuff. What I did tell Hannah was that there was no way she and I would ever get within miles of that situation. She means too much to me and I approach that love and our relationship in an entirely different way. We have our arguments, yes. We butt heads (often), yes. But that is because we are both strong willed. But we think and we love and we talk about things. And I will make sure that we always do.
My mother died tonight. I'll never get a chance to try to bridge the chasm between us. But I also know in my heart that it was unlikely that the attempt would have made a difference.
Perhaps I'm still numb from all that's gone on this week. Since my brother called with the news, I've had teary moments, but not the gut-wrenching sobs like those for Argus. Thomas says--rightly, sad as this is--that I was probably closer to the dog.
So now I'm having a glass (or two) of wine, hoping that it will assist in my search for the tears that ought to be there. Because right now, the thing that feels the worst is that I don't seem to feel at all.
I'm sure it will come. I'll just have to keep looking.
When asked why our relationship devolved so drastically--to the point that I've spoken to her for a total of three minutes in over a year--the only answer I really have is that I got tired of being disappointed. With a few exceptions, Mom never seemed that interested in what was going on in my life, especially once I was married. There was never what most people would consider an appropriate level of interest or excitement when Hannah and Charlotte were born, in their milestones, or even when I finally told her about everything that Charlotte had been going through. Instead, our very short conversations always turned back to Mom and her health issues.
Of course I was concerned about her, but more and more dismayed at what I saw as a shocking lack of curiosity about any condition or treatment mentioned by her doctors. Every time she called I would have to Google a diagnosis or a new list of symptoms. And she never seemed that interested in my girls, or in my sister's, something I found to be both unfathomable and inexcusable. But this of course is only how it appeared to me. After all, there are always two sides to a story. Perhaps she thought the same of me. Perhaps she was disappointed in her daughter. Perhaps I was just never able to understand and appreciate her view of the world.
Earlier today, Hannah asked me why she didn't ever see "Other Grandma."
"Is it because she was mean to you?"
"No, of course not. She lives on the East coast and we just don't really, well, we just don't talk that much anymore."
"Why?"
"Well, we just don't have that much in common, and we're all so busy . . . "
There was no way I was going to tell her the whole bit about being tired of being disappointed, sad that my mother never called to check in, didn't send birthday cards or any of that grandmotherly stuff. What I did tell Hannah was that there was no way she and I would ever get within miles of that situation. She means too much to me and I approach that love and our relationship in an entirely different way. We have our arguments, yes. We butt heads (often), yes. But that is because we are both strong willed. But we think and we love and we talk about things. And I will make sure that we always do.
My mother died tonight. I'll never get a chance to try to bridge the chasm between us. But I also know in my heart that it was unlikely that the attempt would have made a difference.
Perhaps I'm still numb from all that's gone on this week. Since my brother called with the news, I've had teary moments, but not the gut-wrenching sobs like those for Argus. Thomas says--rightly, sad as this is--that I was probably closer to the dog.
So now I'm having a glass (or two) of wine, hoping that it will assist in my search for the tears that ought to be there. Because right now, the thing that feels the worst is that I don't seem to feel at all.
I'm sure it will come. I'll just have to keep looking.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Random Question for the Week
Why is Evan Bayh still in the running for VP?
I don't think I've been as uninspired by a (potential) VP since Dan Quail. Well, except that Mr Bayh is actually qualified. Just sort of, well, mmyeh. Bland.
I don't think I've been as uninspired by a (potential) VP since Dan Quail. Well, except that Mr Bayh is actually qualified. Just sort of, well, mmyeh. Bland.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
OK, Enough With Making People Cry . . .
Of course, to be honest, this will probably make some of you cry.
According to a report from the non-partisan Center for Responsive politics, deployed US troops are donating to Barack Obama's campaign 6:1 over John McCain's. So will we still be hearing that if we don't get on the administration's bandwagon--and McCain's--and stay there that we don't support the troops?
But of course, silly! It's and election year and divide and conquer is the order of the day, not to mention the past six years.
According to a report from the non-partisan Center for Responsive politics, deployed US troops are donating to Barack Obama's campaign 6:1 over John McCain's. So will we still be hearing that if we don't get on the administration's bandwagon--and McCain's--and stay there that we don't support the troops?
But of course, silly! It's and election year and divide and conquer is the order of the day, not to mention the past six years.
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Homecoming
It's late, though not as late as it seems. We're finally home, the girls are in bed, the bags semi-unpacked, and here I sit, wondering if I am shaking because we've spent a long day in the car and I haven't eaten much since breakfast, or whether it's because my dog is dead and every tuft of hair that blows across the floor reminds me that we're not bringing him home tomorrow.
Hannah was of course terribly upset when we told her (I think one of the harder things Thomas has had to do), but now tells me not to be sad because "we can just get you another dog." She even suggests another Great Dane, the same color, "we'll even call him Argus!" But would just any other Great Dane be able to waggle his eyebrows at you, like Andy Rooney trying to tell a joke that might have been considered off-color 50 years ago? And would that eyebrow trick be as perfectly timed to the wagging of his tail (the dog's, not Andy's)?
I have hundreds of photos of Argus, but not one of them quite captures the expressions that were his alone, from the aforementioned eyebrows, to the guilty look when we caught him eating from the counter, to the apologetic when I pulled out the credit card to pay the vet for stomach pumping or induced vomiting to remove the foil or plastic that had been wrapped around whatever it was that he ate from the counter, or to pay for the multiple casts for his puppy-toes. (He also didn't mind my run-on, uber-tangential sentences, either. That or he never quite mastered the eye-roll.)
Because I still don’t quite believe he’s gone, I don’t know what I’ll miss the most. There was the way he hugged you, tucking your head under his chin and then shaking his head—always so much more gently with the girls. Or the way he used to put his face up to mine until our foreheads touched. Or that he knew that sometimes he could get away with sleeping on the bed when Thomas was traveling. The way he played soccer and Frisbee-block with Charlotte. Or how patient he always was with Hannah, letting her dress him in hats and tutus. That it would never occur to him to eat the chickens wandering around his backyard. Or that, after all this time, he would still bark at Thomas’s car because, no matter what anyone said, Argus was my dog (with the exception of the two months after Hannah was born when he wouldn’t even look at me). Or maybe just the peaceful, comfortable sound of him snoring on his bed in the corner.
And, of course there is also how ridiculously safe I felt with a dog who hated the rain, was terrified of thunderstorms, fireworks, the vacuum cleaner and chirping smoke detectors, and who couldn’t bear to be outside by himself for very long.
We’re home but to an emptier, colder, far less dog-y house. But, as Thomas reminds me, we’ll have at least another year with the dog hair.
So goodbye again, Puppy My Love. Thanks for teaching me how to love a dog and that a dog's love is unconditional. I wish you hadn't had to go. I wish we had been here when you did.
Hannah was of course terribly upset when we told her (I think one of the harder things Thomas has had to do), but now tells me not to be sad because "we can just get you another dog." She even suggests another Great Dane, the same color, "we'll even call him Argus!" But would just any other Great Dane be able to waggle his eyebrows at you, like Andy Rooney trying to tell a joke that might have been considered off-color 50 years ago? And would that eyebrow trick be as perfectly timed to the wagging of his tail (the dog's, not Andy's)?
I have hundreds of photos of Argus, but not one of them quite captures the expressions that were his alone, from the aforementioned eyebrows, to the guilty look when we caught him eating from the counter, to the apologetic when I pulled out the credit card to pay the vet for stomach pumping or induced vomiting to remove the foil or plastic that had been wrapped around whatever it was that he ate from the counter, or to pay for the multiple casts for his puppy-toes. (He also didn't mind my run-on, uber-tangential sentences, either. That or he never quite mastered the eye-roll.)
Because I still don’t quite believe he’s gone, I don’t know what I’ll miss the most. There was the way he hugged you, tucking your head under his chin and then shaking his head—always so much more gently with the girls. Or the way he used to put his face up to mine until our foreheads touched. Or that he knew that sometimes he could get away with sleeping on the bed when Thomas was traveling. The way he played soccer and Frisbee-block with Charlotte. Or how patient he always was with Hannah, letting her dress him in hats and tutus. That it would never occur to him to eat the chickens wandering around his backyard. Or that, after all this time, he would still bark at Thomas’s car because, no matter what anyone said, Argus was my dog (with the exception of the two months after Hannah was born when he wouldn’t even look at me). Or maybe just the peaceful, comfortable sound of him snoring on his bed in the corner.
And, of course there is also how ridiculously safe I felt with a dog who hated the rain, was terrified of thunderstorms, fireworks, the vacuum cleaner and chirping smoke detectors, and who couldn’t bear to be outside by himself for very long.
We’re home but to an emptier, colder, far less dog-y house. But, as Thomas reminds me, we’ll have at least another year with the dog hair.
So goodbye again, Puppy My Love. Thanks for teaching me how to love a dog and that a dog's love is unconditional. I wish you hadn't had to go. I wish we had been here when you did.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Friday, August 01, 2008
Oh Canada!
Left Coast Mom is heading north to Canada for a couple of weeks. First Oregon (camping); then Washington (Thomas has a conference in a very nice lodge); Idaho (camping); Montana (hotel); Banff, BC (camping); and Invermere, BC (hotel). I'll probably be a little spotty about posting but hope to have some photos up tomorrow while I still have internet acess. I don't trust Hannah and Charlotte in a cafe--they're way too excited to be out and about (not to mention entirely too loud!).
Anyone need maple syrup, besides my lovely neighbors who are chicken sitting?
Anyone need maple syrup, besides my lovely neighbors who are chicken sitting?
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Hurt
A couple of weeks ago Hannah again asked me how many brothers I have. She thinks it incredible how large my family is, since she has only Charlotte.
"Still five!"
"What are their names?"
"Bill, John, Michael, Steven and Tim."
"Who have I met?"
Uh oh.
"Uncle John, Uncle Michael and Uncle Tim."
"But . . . that's only three. What about the other two?"
It was the first time she had ever asked me that and I wasn't prepared. But she took my overly long pause as evidence that I had not heard.
"Mom? What about Uncle Bill and Uncle Steven? When can I meet them?"
I hate being lied to, so I try really hard not to lie, especially to Hannah. Evade? Yes. Ignore and/or change the subject when necessary? Yes. But outright lying? Not so much.
So I told her.
"You won't, baby. You can't."
There was a long pause. I think she heard the tears in my voice. Then she asked softly,
"Why Mommy? Why can't I meet them?"
"Because they died, sweetie. A long time ago."
For a few moments there was silence in the car, and then from the backseat, the sound of gentle weeping.
Hannah's not inconsiderable flair for the dramatic stems, at least in part, from her kind heart and very tender sensibilities. But while I was sorry that it upset her, I was only a little sorry that I had told her. She's old enough to hear it and, at whatever age it had come up, it would still have affected her more deeply than it would most others. But still . . .
"It's OK, peanut. Don't cry, please? It was a long time ago. Before you were born."
"It's just that I'm so sad for you. Because you lost your brothers. And because I'll never meet my uncles."
"Mommy? Do you miss them?"
"Yes, peanut. Every day."
Every day.
"Still five!"
"What are their names?"
"Bill, John, Michael, Steven and Tim."
"Who have I met?"
Uh oh.
"Uncle John, Uncle Michael and Uncle Tim."
"But . . . that's only three. What about the other two?"
It was the first time she had ever asked me that and I wasn't prepared. But she took my overly long pause as evidence that I had not heard.
"Mom? What about Uncle Bill and Uncle Steven? When can I meet them?"
I hate being lied to, so I try really hard not to lie, especially to Hannah. Evade? Yes. Ignore and/or change the subject when necessary? Yes. But outright lying? Not so much.
So I told her.
"You won't, baby. You can't."
There was a long pause. I think she heard the tears in my voice. Then she asked softly,
"Why Mommy? Why can't I meet them?"
"Because they died, sweetie. A long time ago."
For a few moments there was silence in the car, and then from the backseat, the sound of gentle weeping.
Hannah's not inconsiderable flair for the dramatic stems, at least in part, from her kind heart and very tender sensibilities. But while I was sorry that it upset her, I was only a little sorry that I had told her. She's old enough to hear it and, at whatever age it had come up, it would still have affected her more deeply than it would most others. But still . . .
"It's OK, peanut. Don't cry, please? It was a long time ago. Before you were born."
"It's just that I'm so sad for you. Because you lost your brothers. And because I'll never meet my uncles."
"Mommy? Do you miss them?"
"Yes, peanut. Every day."
Every day.
Friday, July 25, 2008
What Matters
Some days the battles with Hannah seem endless and oh, so maddening, and some days I feel I can no longer contain my frustration. But today I am reminded just how petty it is, these quarrels over things that truly don't matter.
Just last Saturday at the BlogHer panel, Blogging About Our Children With Special Needs, Vicki Foreman spoke so movingly and eloquently about her son, Evan. Two days ago Evan died. I only knew Vicki and Evan through her words, on the panel and from her blog, and yet I can't stop crying. And I can't wait for Hannah to come home from camp. I need to hold her tighter than I have in a long time.
Beyond that, I have no words.
Just last Saturday at the BlogHer panel, Blogging About Our Children With Special Needs, Vicki Foreman spoke so movingly and eloquently about her son, Evan. Two days ago Evan died. I only knew Vicki and Evan through her words, on the panel and from her blog, and yet I can't stop crying. And I can't wait for Hannah to come home from camp. I need to hold her tighter than I have in a long time.
Beyond that, I have no words.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Other Things I Learned at BlogHer '08
- Always feel free to hop from session to session if you're not getting what you want from your first choice.
- Make sure that the panelist's mic is off when asking a question you don't want broadcast to the entire room. (See #1)
- You are not supposed to say anything negative--or anything that could be (mis)construed as being negative or snarky--about blogger "royalty," no matter how long ago you fell out of love with them. Or even if you still like them.
- The luminous woman sitting next to you might actually be having the same doubts about her level of attractiveness that you have harbored all of your life.
- Never write a book proposal on a pizza box or slip a proposal under an agent's hotel door. That is the "duh" part of this. What I actually learned was that a couple of idiots did both of these things.
- Women you've never met before can rip your heart fiercely from its mooring and then gently return it, intact but altered, perhaps forever.*
- The people who seem the toughest on the outside are usually, underneath that layer, the squishiest. But I guess I already knew that.
- The sticker for the book "Can I Sit With You?" is a great ice-breaker. Especially when it's on your coat. (Yes, coat. BlogHer '08 was in San Francisco.)
* I'll post the Community Keynote when its available.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
How Do You Respond to Utter Stupidity?
I spent a good bit of the day trying to write a post about the Michael-Savage-on-autism idiocy, otherwise known as "Look! Someone need to boost his ratings again!"* I didn't get very far because I couldn't come up with a clever way to bitch-slap him into next Wednesday. Not that I would ever do that. Ahem. So I checked with a much wiser friend who reminded me that I shouldn't add to his link pile and that he didn't deserve the effort anyway.
Fortunately, Gene Weingarten*, the Washington Post's resident funnyman, had already come up with the perfect response:
The only thing I have to add is this: It's a shame that Michael Savage appears to no longer have a father around to tell him to stop acting like a moron.
* I linked to Media Matters on this because 1) they were the first ones to push it mainstream, thus pissing off MS; and 2) because linking to the Savage site made me queasy. You can Google it.
** Yes, yes. I know--and so does Gene--that Michael and Dan Savage are not the same people. And therein lies the joke.
Fortunately, Gene Weingarten*, the Washington Post's resident funnyman, had already come up with the perfect response:
"Do you remember Michael Savage, the poisonous right-wing radio talk show host whom I reported about in my piece on 24-hour punditry? Michael is back in the news for expressing the opinion, on the air, that "99 percent" of all children diagnosed with autism are "brats" who haven't been told to "cut the act out." He said: "They don't have a father around to tell them, 'Don't act like a moron. You'll get nowhere in life.'"
Savage is not retracting this, even though he admits it might be a little wrong. And I don't blame him. Getting things a little wrong is okay. I remain a supporter of Michael Savage, because I am a fan of his column "Savage Love," in which he deals forthrightly with the fact that he is gay and proud of it, and joyfully gives out highly knowledgeable advice on techniques for active, hedonistic, sexually adventuresome gay males like himself. I LOVE that column." **
The only thing I have to add is this: It's a shame that Michael Savage appears to no longer have a father around to tell him to stop acting like a moron.
* I linked to Media Matters on this because 1) they were the first ones to push it mainstream, thus pissing off MS; and 2) because linking to the Savage site made me queasy. You can Google it.
** Yes, yes. I know--and so does Gene--that Michael and Dan Savage are not the same people. And therein lies the joke.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hannah's Nanny
Last week while we were at Costco, Hannah started sulking when I told her that, no, we weren't there to get her something. After I repeated it for the fifth time, she started in on a tantrum worthy of a three year old. Well maybe not the screaming, but there was definitely crying and flinging herself around like a rag doll.
On our way back to the car, she looked up at me through tear soaked eyelashes and said "I think we should just get a nanny."
Me: But . . . . why?
Hannah: Because I think you need to go back to work. Maybe we need to take a little break from each other.
Me: Hmm.
You know the nanny wouldn't buy you everything you wanted either, don't you?
Hannah (flabbergasted): But, of course she would!
Once I had assured her that a nanny wouldn't be given extra money to spend on her, and would almost certainly not want to spend her own money on cr . . . er, stuff, for Hannah and Charlotte, Hannah sniffed a few times and said "Ok, I guess we'll just keep you, then."
On our way back to the car, she looked up at me through tear soaked eyelashes and said "I think we should just get a nanny."
Me: But . . . . why?
Hannah: Because I think you need to go back to work. Maybe we need to take a little break from each other.
Me: Hmm.
You know the nanny wouldn't buy you everything you wanted either, don't you?
Hannah (flabbergasted): But, of course she would!
Once I had assured her that a nanny wouldn't be given extra money to spend on her, and would almost certainly not want to spend her own money on cr . . . er, stuff, for Hannah and Charlotte, Hannah sniffed a few times and said "Ok, I guess we'll just keep you, then."
Friday, July 18, 2008
Yes, BlogHers, You CAN Be Too Nice
I’m at the BlogHer conference in San Francisco and have met many intelligent, interesting and incredibly nice women. So nice, apparently, they didn’t want to tell me that the seat of my now least-favorite pants had split.*
* Thanks, Banana Republic! And before you ask, Yes they were new and No, I have not put on weight over the past couple of days.
* Thanks, Banana Republic! And before you ask, Yes they were new and No, I have not put on weight over the past couple of days.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Better than a Fortune Cookie
This quote was on my teabag tag:
I can think of quite a few pop songs that prove his point.
Anything too stupid to be said is sung.
--Voltaire
I can think of quite a few pop songs that prove his point.
Going Green
I know that green is the new black, but I like to think that we jumped on the wagon way before there was a band on it. At our house in Campbell, the garden provided more vegetables than we could ever possibly eat--meaning that our neighbors also shared in the tomatoes (usually at least three types), zucchini, yellow squash, peas and beans. This year we've planted tomatoes, beans, eggplant, peppers, zucchini, yellow squash, pumpkins and blueberries. We also have lemons, limes, strawberries, plums and fresh eggs. And tons of herbs. Let's not forget the herbs!
But while all of this is wonderful, the crowning glory is probably the solar panels that came with the house. We have a transfer box so that we can sell to PG&E whatever electricity we don't use (net metering). Every month our statement shows either how much we bought from PG&E or how much we sold to them. The latter amount is posted as a credit against our true-up, which happens every July.
I'll admit now, as I did last year, that I've become more conscious about making sure the lights are turned off and that I answer the "It's cold in here!" with "Go put on a sweater!" at least twice before relenting and turning up the heat. It's easier to do when your monthly statement comes with a bar chart showing just how much you used, sold or bought each month as compared to the last.
We got our true-up statement this week and me like-ey: Our bill for the month was 58 cents, for the year it was about 275$. Or about what we paid for one summer month in our last house. Granted, we had to leave the AC running because we were trying to sell that house, but still. I'll take it.
But while all of this is wonderful, the crowning glory is probably the solar panels that came with the house. We have a transfer box so that we can sell to PG&E whatever electricity we don't use (net metering). Every month our statement shows either how much we bought from PG&E or how much we sold to them. The latter amount is posted as a credit against our true-up, which happens every July.
I'll admit now, as I did last year, that I've become more conscious about making sure the lights are turned off and that I answer the "It's cold in here!" with "Go put on a sweater!" at least twice before relenting and turning up the heat. It's easier to do when your monthly statement comes with a bar chart showing just how much you used, sold or bought each month as compared to the last.
We got our true-up statement this week and me like-ey: Our bill for the month was 58 cents, for the year it was about 275$. Or about what we paid for one summer month in our last house. Granted, we had to leave the AC running because we were trying to sell that house, but still. I'll take it.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Random Notes
1.
I heard someone in Peet’s say “It was like being in a 3rd world country” because she couldn’t get tech support to come and fix her Internet fast enough. Seriously. So just in case you ever wanted to know just how truly spoiled we are . . .
2.
Now I remember why I fell in love with Coldplay in the first place. Especially since it’s like listening to an entirely different band. Viva la Vida (the song) just makes me happy to my core. I think it’s the sublime combo of his voice and the violins; I’m a sucker for violins.
3.
I read somewhere that there is a push on to make yoga an Olympic sport. Because curling has no summer equivalent? Or is the International Curling Society pushing it so that they're no longer the butt of every Olympic joke. I love yoga but I always thought it was supposed to be relaxing--not competitive. What's next? "Watching paint dry" just doesn't have a ring to it--no pun intended. Any suggestions?
I heard someone in Peet’s say “It was like being in a 3rd world country” because she couldn’t get tech support to come and fix her Internet fast enough. Seriously. So just in case you ever wanted to know just how truly spoiled we are . . .
2.
Now I remember why I fell in love with Coldplay in the first place. Especially since it’s like listening to an entirely different band. Viva la Vida (the song) just makes me happy to my core. I think it’s the sublime combo of his voice and the violins; I’m a sucker for violins.
3.
I read somewhere that there is a push on to make yoga an Olympic sport. Because curling has no summer equivalent? Or is the International Curling Society pushing it so that they're no longer the butt of every Olympic joke. I love yoga but I always thought it was supposed to be relaxing--not competitive. What's next? "Watching paint dry" just doesn't have a ring to it--no pun intended. Any suggestions?
Friday, July 11, 2008
The Dammit, #28
Dammit #1:
These aren’t all of the Dammits that were supposed to appear here this week, but I cannot find the paper on which I wrote the original. Yes, I still compose longhand some of the time. Especially when Hannah takes over my computer to watch (oh dear god no) music videos from Disney Radio stars.
Dammit #2:
We were again denied coverage for Charlotte’s speech therapy. I kind of expected it but was still a little disconcerted to read the closing: “If you are not pleased with the resolution of this matter . . .” Really? If I’m not pleased? I’d offer to rewrite their communications for them but then they might “accidentally” cancel my prescription coverage again.
Dammit #3:
George Bush called the late and little-lamented (by me, at least) Jesse Helms (R-NC) a "good friend and a great American . . . a kind, decent, and humble man and a passionate defender of what he called 'the Miracle of America." Really? Whose “miracle” was he defending? He never met a civil rights bill he didn’t try to kill; fought the creation of Martin Luther King Jr. Day; attacked the National Endowment for the Arts for promoting immorality and anti-Christianity; and worked to prevent health aid in third world countries if any organization even breathed the words “family planning” or “contraception.” He firmly believed that HIV/AIDS existed only in the gay community and that it was their own fault if they got sick—it took Bono to get him to change his tune on AIDS in Africa. I could go on but your eyes are already glazing over and, even dead, JH still turns my stomach.
Dammit #4:
There was something else political but I can’t remember what it was. You’re welcome!
Dammit #5:
Charlotte has stayed up until 10-11:00 every night for the past two weeks so I usually have to (literally) drag her out of bed in the morning to go to school and speech therapy. Friday mornings and the weekend she has off, so when does she get up? 7:30-ish. Except today: I wanted to go to a spin class so she slept in until 10:00. The anti-Dammit here is that she really needed the sleep. Plus I got to have two cups of coffee while they were still hot and read most of the newspaper.
These aren’t all of the Dammits that were supposed to appear here this week, but I cannot find the paper on which I wrote the original. Yes, I still compose longhand some of the time. Especially when Hannah takes over my computer to watch (oh dear god no) music videos from Disney Radio stars.
Dammit #2:
We were again denied coverage for Charlotte’s speech therapy. I kind of expected it but was still a little disconcerted to read the closing: “If you are not pleased with the resolution of this matter . . .” Really? If I’m not pleased? I’d offer to rewrite their communications for them but then they might “accidentally” cancel my prescription coverage again.
Dammit #3:
George Bush called the late and little-lamented (by me, at least) Jesse Helms (R-NC) a "good friend and a great American . . . a kind, decent, and humble man and a passionate defender of what he called 'the Miracle of America." Really? Whose “miracle” was he defending? He never met a civil rights bill he didn’t try to kill; fought the creation of Martin Luther King Jr. Day; attacked the National Endowment for the Arts for promoting immorality and anti-Christianity; and worked to prevent health aid in third world countries if any organization even breathed the words “family planning” or “contraception.” He firmly believed that HIV/AIDS existed only in the gay community and that it was their own fault if they got sick—it took Bono to get him to change his tune on AIDS in Africa. I could go on but your eyes are already glazing over and, even dead, JH still turns my stomach.
Dammit #4:
There was something else political but I can’t remember what it was. You’re welcome!
Dammit #5:
Charlotte has stayed up until 10-11:00 every night for the past two weeks so I usually have to (literally) drag her out of bed in the morning to go to school and speech therapy. Friday mornings and the weekend she has off, so when does she get up? 7:30-ish. Except today: I wanted to go to a spin class so she slept in until 10:00. The anti-Dammit here is that she really needed the sleep. Plus I got to have two cups of coffee while they were still hot and read most of the newspaper.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Where Does the Time Go?
Hannah at three and a half:
Hannah at five and a half, minus one tooth:
The second tooth is on its way out already, but she's not as excited about it. Because I told her that the 50 cents included a one-time, first-tooth bonus. But Hannah is still telling people that 1) she doesn't believe in the Tooth Fairy, and 2) that the Tooth Fairy (the one that she doesn't believe in) left her $50.
Hannah at five and a half, minus one tooth:
The second tooth is on its way out already, but she's not as excited about it. Because I told her that the 50 cents included a one-time, first-tooth bonus. But Hannah is still telling people that 1) she doesn't believe in the Tooth Fairy, and 2) that the Tooth Fairy (the one that she doesn't believe in) left her $50.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
I Heart the Newseum
One of my favorite parts of our trip to Virginia was going to the Newseum--I could have spent another couple of days there. I know--I'm a dork. But fortunately Thomas doesn't usually seem to mind, so I dragged him along. The gallery of Pulitzer Prize winning photographs alone was worth the price of admission (20$), but I thought this was fun too:
Guess what they were all doing (besides escaping the torrential downpour)?
Why, watching the U.S. Open, of course!
Guess what they were all doing (besides escaping the torrential downpour)?
Why, watching the U.S. Open, of course!
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
The Dammit, #27
I know, I know. It's late. Again. But there are more than a few things bugging me right now, so here's a small selection:
Dammit #1:
Some on the right are still saying that Barack Obama is insufficiently patriotic because he refused to wear a flag lapel pin. I'm actually a little pissed that he felt it necessary to start wearing one. Why? Because he caved. While admitting that calling Obama unpatriotic was "foolish," conservative columnist Michael Gerson wrote in the Washington Post that, by forgoing the flag pin, Obama " . . . has declared himself superior to an almost universal form of popular patriotism." WTF? So why did the flag pin only come into vogue after 9/11? And why do we only see them on scared politicians and pundits nervous about upsetting their critics? (And Jay Leno, but that's different.) Because a certain segment of the population deemed it necessary to prove your patriotism by donning a Chinese-made flag pin and agreeing not to question anything The Decider decided to do.
I'd rather have them actually read the Constitution and sing a bit of the Star Spangled Banner.
Dammit #1A:
About those flag pins: Most of them are made in China—unless you special order and specifically request American-made. Order minimums start at 100, depending on the distributor. I know—I checked.
Dammit #2:
The California hands-free law went into effect on July 1. In part because I rarely talk on the phone while driving, it's been nice if a bit odd to see so many people with two hands on the wheel. Well, except for those who are texting or dialing, because the law doesn’t cover that.
Dammit #3:
Why do people spend 20 minutes writing up a long question to post to message boards about whether anyone has ever heard of the disease du jour? Here’s my admittedly crabby-old-person advice: GOOGLE it. LIVE SEARCH it. ASK it. You'll save yourself 16 minutes (or in this case, 19 minutes, 30 seconds), and save me and a few others the two minutes spent wondering why you would spend 20 minutes writing up a post to ask . . . .
Dammit #4:
I saw this bumper sticker today: "When George W. Bush took office gas was $1.46 per gallon."
The car right next to it had a "W'04” bumper sticker. Yeah, so how’s that working out for you?
Dammit #1:
Some on the right are still saying that Barack Obama is insufficiently patriotic because he refused to wear a flag lapel pin. I'm actually a little pissed that he felt it necessary to start wearing one. Why? Because he caved. While admitting that calling Obama unpatriotic was "foolish," conservative columnist Michael Gerson wrote in the Washington Post that, by forgoing the flag pin, Obama " . . . has declared himself superior to an almost universal form of popular patriotism." WTF? So why did the flag pin only come into vogue after 9/11? And why do we only see them on scared politicians and pundits nervous about upsetting their critics? (And Jay Leno, but that's different.) Because a certain segment of the population deemed it necessary to prove your patriotism by donning a Chinese-made flag pin and agreeing not to question anything The Decider decided to do.
I'd rather have them actually read the Constitution and sing a bit of the Star Spangled Banner.
Dammit #1A:
About those flag pins: Most of them are made in China—unless you special order and specifically request American-made. Order minimums start at 100, depending on the distributor. I know—I checked.
Dammit #2:
The California hands-free law went into effect on July 1. In part because I rarely talk on the phone while driving, it's been nice if a bit odd to see so many people with two hands on the wheel. Well, except for those who are texting or dialing, because the law doesn’t cover that.
Dammit #3:
Why do people spend 20 minutes writing up a long question to post to message boards about whether anyone has ever heard of the disease du jour? Here’s my admittedly crabby-old-person advice: GOOGLE it. LIVE SEARCH it. ASK it. You'll save yourself 16 minutes (or in this case, 19 minutes, 30 seconds), and save me and a few others the two minutes spent wondering why you would spend 20 minutes writing up a post to ask . . . .
Dammit #4:
I saw this bumper sticker today: "When George W. Bush took office gas was $1.46 per gallon."
The car right next to it had a "W'04” bumper sticker. Yeah, so how’s that working out for you?
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
A Sign of the Apocalypse?
Starbucks announced today that they will close 600 stores in the U.S., plus scale back the number that had been slated to open. That's 600 fewer chances for Hannah to tell random baristas that Mommy doesn't like Starbucks.
In somewhat related news, I have yet to receive my shipment of coffee from Joffrey's Coffee and Tea. Neither has Thomas. And yes, I'm outing them now--I think I've been very patient and waited long enough. But if you like--they're more than happy to give you 25% off your first purchase! Email me and I'll send you the promo code. But don't hold me responsible if your order never arrives.
In somewhat related news, I have yet to receive my shipment of coffee from Joffrey's Coffee and Tea. Neither has Thomas. And yes, I'm outing them now--I think I've been very patient and waited long enough. But if you like--they're more than happy to give you 25% off your first purchase! Email me and I'll send you the promo code. But don't hold me responsible if your order never arrives.
Congratulations! It's a Book (Sort Of)
Well somehow it's happened. Somehow I've managed to write enough to have an actual book manuscript and I'm not done yet.
Me being me, I'll go one of two ways: 1) have a panic attack and hope my hard drive crashes again, or 2) spend the next month up all night making it even prettier and writing a proposal. Oh wait--there's a third option: If I increase my medication, maybe I can do both!
Me being me, I'll go one of two ways: 1) have a panic attack and hope my hard drive crashes again, or 2) spend the next month up all night making it even prettier and writing a proposal. Oh wait--there's a third option: If I increase my medication, maybe I can do both!
Monday, June 30, 2008
What I Did on My Summer Vacation
Well, not my summer vacation, exactly, and of course it's not over yet. But the girls and I went to Virginia to spend a week with their grandparents; to visit a few of the tourist traps you can't go to when you actually live in a place; and to remember why I don't love Virginia in the summer. (Hint: When we landed and were waiting on the jet way for the stroller to emerge from the belly of the plane, Hannah stood for a moment, confused, before asking "UGH! What is that??" That, my little love, is what is known as humidity.)
Aside from the 18-hour door-to-door trip, we had a great time. We went to the Zoo, where we got to see all three of the pandas; the Botanic Gardens, which Grandma and I probably enjoyed more than the girls did; and out for a day of boating on Lake Anna, courtesy the neighbors.
The girls were astounded by the enormous copper screen at the Museum of the American Indian and by the prism window, though they were probably more charmed by the fact that they could dance in the rainbows it cast on the floor:
And I love how they were able to pull off the all American look just in time to hang out in the nation's capital:*
* It's all in the photography--thanks, Penny!
Aside from the 18-hour door-to-door trip, we had a great time. We went to the Zoo, where we got to see all three of the pandas; the Botanic Gardens, which Grandma and I probably enjoyed more than the girls did; and out for a day of boating on Lake Anna, courtesy the neighbors.
The girls were astounded by the enormous copper screen at the Museum of the American Indian and by the prism window, though they were probably more charmed by the fact that they could dance in the rainbows it cast on the floor:
And I love how they were able to pull off the all American look just in time to hang out in the nation's capital:*
* It's all in the photography--thanks, Penny!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Another Sign that Women are Smarter
And meaner, too. Thanks Sarah!
A woman and a man are involved in a car accident on a snowy, cold Monday morning; it's a bad one. Both of their cars are totally demolished but amazingly neither of them is hurt.
After they crawl out of their cars, the man is yelling about women drivers. The woman says, 'So, you're a man. That's interesting. I am a woman. Wow, just look at our cars! There's nothing left, but we're unhurt. This must be a sign from God that we should be friends and live in peace for the rest of our days'.
Flattered, the man replies, 'Oh yes, I agree completely, this must be a sign from God! But you're still at fault. Women shouldn't be allowed to drive.'
The woman continues, 'And look at this, here's another miracle. My car is completely demolished but this bottle of wine didn't break. Surely God wants us to drink this wine and celebrate our good fortune.'
She hands the bottle to the man. The man nods his head in agreement, opens it and drinks half the bottle and then hands it back to the woman.
The woman takes the bottle, puts the cap back on and hands it back to the man.
The man asks, 'Aren't you having any?'
The woman replies, ‘No. I think I'll just wait for the police....'
MORAL OF THE STORY:
Women are clever, evil bitches.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Random Answers of the Week
Yes, Scott McClellan's book, What Happened, is as rambling and confusing a read as any of his White House press conference transcripts. And yes, Karen Hughes should be pissed, nay dismayed, that McClellan writes that he "honed [his] communication skills under her direction."
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
TuTu Time, II
Hannah loves ballet, too--especially the costumes! Her class played the blackbirds in Hansel and Gretel:
She was very upset that the costumes were to be donated to the school and wants me to make her one just like this. It will be very easy, she assured me, because we already have lots of chicken feathers to make the fringe.
She was very upset that the costumes were to be donated to the school and wants me to make her one just like this. It will be very easy, she assured me, because we already have lots of chicken feathers to make the fringe.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
TuTu Time
From Charlotte's first ballet recital:
Her pre-ballet class danced to Kermit's "Rainbow Connection." I was worried that she wouldn't go out on the stage or stay there once the lights went up, but she continues to amaze me. Not only did she stay and follow the teachers' lead, at one point she actually waved to the audience.
It seems a lifetime ago but once upon a time I was afraid that Charlotte might never walk. Then when she finally did walk she would often just collapse for no apparent reason. But there is no quit in her and never has been. And she loved being up there, dancing for a proper audience. When I went backstage to get her, she yelled across the dressing room "Me dance! Me dance!"
So, yes. I cried like a baby.
Her pre-ballet class danced to Kermit's "Rainbow Connection." I was worried that she wouldn't go out on the stage or stay there once the lights went up, but she continues to amaze me. Not only did she stay and follow the teachers' lead, at one point she actually waved to the audience.
It seems a lifetime ago but once upon a time I was afraid that Charlotte might never walk. Then when she finally did walk she would often just collapse for no apparent reason. But there is no quit in her and never has been. And she loved being up there, dancing for a proper audience. When I went backstage to get her, she yelled across the dressing room "Me dance! Me dance!"
So, yes. I cried like a baby.
Monday, June 09, 2008
There's Hope Yet
Hannah and the truth don't often like to be in the same room together. It's not exactly a new phenomenon, but I'm hoping it's a phase and so I found a wee ray of hope in the following exchange:
I was getting the girls ready for bed when I noticed that the duster that belongs in the vacuum was not actually in the vacuum. The girls like to take it out and play with it--sometimes to sword fight and occasionally even to dust!--and it doesn't always make it back to its holster. This does not rise to the level of a time-out offense, but I do like to have it where it belongs in case I need it.
Me: Charlotte, do you know where the duster is?
Charlotte: My room.
Me: Did you take it out to play with?
Charlotte: Yes.
Me: Will you go get it and put it back please?
Charlotte: Ok!
Hannah, eyes and mouth wide in shock: But . . . she didn't even try to lie!
Me, trying not to laugh: No, she didn't. She's usually very truthful.
Hannah: So . . . she's not in trouble?
Me: No, she's not.
Hannah: Huh. Maybe I should try that some time.
I was getting the girls ready for bed when I noticed that the duster that belongs in the vacuum was not actually in the vacuum. The girls like to take it out and play with it--sometimes to sword fight and occasionally even to dust!--and it doesn't always make it back to its holster. This does not rise to the level of a time-out offense, but I do like to have it where it belongs in case I need it.
Me: Charlotte, do you know where the duster is?
Charlotte: My room.
Me: Did you take it out to play with?
Charlotte: Yes.
Me: Will you go get it and put it back please?
Charlotte: Ok!
Hannah, eyes and mouth wide in shock: But . . . she didn't even try to lie!
Me, trying not to laugh: No, she didn't. She's usually very truthful.
Hannah: So . . . she's not in trouble?
Me: No, she's not.
Hannah: Huh. Maybe I should try that some time.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Happy Birthday to Me . . .
Can it get better? Barack Obama wins the delegate count (and the nomination). David Sedaris was on The Daily Show (left column, under recent guests). I had a Pamplemousse triple chocolate mousse cake* all to myself and the girls spent the evening "helping" Thomas put together a new play structure.
So Happy Birthday to me, and Happy Birthday to you too, Gait!
* Thanks, Lisa!
So Happy Birthday to me, and Happy Birthday to you too, Gait!
* Thanks, Lisa!
Votes for Chickens!
No, we're not asking that chickens be allowed to vote. This will be much easier--especially in states where ID is required at the polls.
Over on Urban Chickens, Thomas has posted a video made by one of Sophia and Zsu Zsu's fans, Stacey. Stacey's daughter, Olivia, has entered the video in the Story Tube competition held by Scholastic. They need you to watch the video and vote--but you have to do it today AND tomorrow, because, yes, I am a slacker and am posting this late.
Here's the deal (Stacey's plea, as copied from Urban Chickens):
So go! Watch the video! Vote for it--you'll want to anyway; it's good!
(Olivia's video is bottom row, center.)
Over on Urban Chickens, Thomas has posted a video made by one of Sophia and Zsu Zsu's fans, Stacey. Stacey's daughter, Olivia, has entered the video in the Story Tube competition held by Scholastic. They need you to watch the video and vote--but you have to do it today AND tomorrow, because, yes, I am a slacker and am posting this late.
Here's the deal (Stacey's plea, as copied from Urban Chickens):
[Olivia] was chosen as a finalist and now the winner is being chosen by a live, on-line vote. The winner receives $500 in books plus $1000 in book for their local library (she wants to give it to her school library which just lost massive funding.)
If you like, check out the video and vote at http://www.storytubes.info. You can vote once a day until the polls close on Wednesday night. Tell all your friends, too! Go chickens!!
So go! Watch the video! Vote for it--you'll want to anyway; it's good!
(Olivia's video is bottom row, center.)
Monday, June 02, 2008
More Hockey, Please
I'm watching Game 5 of the Stanley Cup finals--what could actually be the last game of the season. But for that to happen, Detroit has to win and Pittsburgh doesn't seem to have any quit in them tonight. Which puts me in an odd position, fan-wise.
Obviously, I'm a Sharks fan. I still have a soft spot for the Washington Caps because they were my first hockey love. I don't like Detroit. But I loathe Pittsburgh. One of my favorite signs at a hockey game was one posted years ago by a Caps fan, welcoming the "Pittsburgh Professional Diving Team." Hockey fans will appreciate.
Now, because the Sharks don't play Pittsburgh that often, I don't have as much reason to detest as I once did, but Mario still owns the team and I dunno. He always seemed such a, what's the word . . . princess.
All that aside, I find myself sitting here watching Game 5, sort of hoping that the Penguins win. It won't get them the Cup, but it would get an awful lot of us another hockey game. After all, October is a long time to wait.
Obviously, I'm a Sharks fan. I still have a soft spot for the Washington Caps because they were my first hockey love. I don't like Detroit. But I loathe Pittsburgh. One of my favorite signs at a hockey game was one posted years ago by a Caps fan, welcoming the "Pittsburgh Professional Diving Team." Hockey fans will appreciate.
Now, because the Sharks don't play Pittsburgh that often, I don't have as much reason to detest as I once did, but Mario still owns the team and I dunno. He always seemed such a, what's the word . . . princess.
All that aside, I find myself sitting here watching Game 5, sort of hoping that the Penguins win. It won't get them the Cup, but it would get an awful lot of us another hockey game. After all, October is a long time to wait.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Electricity is Over-rated
One night a couple of weeks ago the power went out. All I could hear was the ticking of the clock, the dog’s gentle snore and the faint sounds of traffic. I had only four candles and a hurricane lamp to light my pen and notebook and the six newly written pages of my book. "Peaceful" can't quite describe the feeling.
I forget how much noise and light we live with, just from the endless array of things that we plug in, their tiny blue lights and the soft sounds that only stop when the power goes out. The TV, the stereo receiver, the DVR, the DVD player/Mac-Mini, my computer, Thomas’ computer, the clocks on the oven and microwave, two alarm clocks in the bedroom, power strips, night lights in the bathroom and the girls room, the light behind the light switches, phone chargers, the refrigerator, the dryer because it usually needs to be emptied, ceiling fans . . .
Basically there is always something on, always demanding attention, however passively. Even after I turn out the lights and go to bed, these tiny little lights still twinkle like earth-bound stars. So with no power and everything finally and truly off, I felt calm. Peaceful. The tight ball of anxiety that usually lives in my chest loosened just a bit. I decided that the power could stay off all night.
Except that, just then, something just bit me.
Lights, please!
I forget how much noise and light we live with, just from the endless array of things that we plug in, their tiny blue lights and the soft sounds that only stop when the power goes out. The TV, the stereo receiver, the DVR, the DVD player/Mac-Mini, my computer, Thomas’ computer, the clocks on the oven and microwave, two alarm clocks in the bedroom, power strips, night lights in the bathroom and the girls room, the light behind the light switches, phone chargers, the refrigerator, the dryer because it usually needs to be emptied, ceiling fans . . .
Basically there is always something on, always demanding attention, however passively. Even after I turn out the lights and go to bed, these tiny little lights still twinkle like earth-bound stars. So with no power and everything finally and truly off, I felt calm. Peaceful. The tight ball of anxiety that usually lives in my chest loosened just a bit. I decided that the power could stay off all night.
Except that, just then, something just bit me.
Lights, please!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I Wish I'd Written It . . .
Normally I don't promo products here--especially when I have absolutely zero knowledge of the product or the company. But I tripped over this ad/product narrative at woot.com today and, while it might sound like I wrote it, I didn't. Dammit. So really, I'm not promo-ing a product; just the writing. The product will have to speak for itself.
Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Mini Two-Gig MicroSD
Uh, hey, tech engineers, scientists, and product designers? There’s something we’ve been meaning to talk to you about. We’re thinking it's time to find another project to work on. Please don’t make our memory media any smaller than these Dane-Elec 2GB MicroSD Cards.
We understand that you’ve had a blast figuring out how to cram more and more megabytes into fewer and fewer molecules. Unfortunately, the human hand and the human eye have their limits. We’re perfectly happy to save our data 2GB at a time to these teensy little MicroSD cards. The included adapters bulk ‘em up so they’ll fit into SD card slots and be visible to the naked eye. Alas, you’ll have to use your own tweezers and loupe to get them into the adapters. We can’t imagine any possible reason for making them smaller, unless Dane-Elec decides to go after the lucrative, untapped gnome market.
Sure, it’d be theoretically awesome to save the entire recorded works of the Beatles on a grain of sand, or to load GTA IV from a single silicon atom, or to save all of your daughter’s baby pictures to one of her eyelashes. But since people aren’t getting any smaller (senior citizens and Kirstie Alley excepted), it seems to us that your prodigious talents are better spend pursuing other secrets. Like, say, teleportation. Then you could live in Bermuda and instantly commute to work in Pittsburgh. Or eternal life. That’d be useful. The point is, you needn’t concern yourself with shrinking our memory media anymore. We’ve got these Dane-Elec 2GB MicroSD Cards. We’re good.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Chicken Press
Over the weekend Urban Chickens Sophia and Zsu Zsu had a visit from Michael Procopio, food blogger for the San Francisco Examiner. Not only were the chickens on their best behavior, but Sophia was thoughtful enough to lay an egg just about half and hour before Michael arrived.
The column includes some nice close-ups, including one of their business ends--and c'mon, you know you've always wanted a (sorry, couldn't be avoided) birds' eye view of the business end of a chicken. Or is that a smidge too much of "knowing where your food comes from"?
So go, go! Read Michael's column (Urban Chickens: Do-it-yourself Hen Party) in the San Francisco Examiner! As if seeing the chickens weren't enough, the column is funny and I love the way he writes.
The column includes some nice close-ups, including one of their business ends--and c'mon, you know you've always wanted a (sorry, couldn't be avoided) birds' eye view of the business end of a chicken. Or is that a smidge too much of "knowing where your food comes from"?
So go, go! Read Michael's column (Urban Chickens: Do-it-yourself Hen Party) in the San Francisco Examiner! As if seeing the chickens weren't enough, the column is funny and I love the way he writes.
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Return of the $54 Million Pants
Last summer I wrote a post about a DC administrative judge who was suing a dry cleaner for 54 million dollars because they lost his pants.
At issue was a two-word sign on the counter: Satisfaction Guaranteed.
They lost his pants, so he wanted satisfaction: the cost of the pants plus compensation for his "mental suffering, inconvenience and discomfort."
Apparently never having heard the old axiom "a man who represents himself has a fool for a client," Judge Roy Pearson included in his opening statement a smidge of rhetoric: ". . . never before in recorded history have a group of defendants engaged in such misleading and unfair business practices."
Fortunately he lost, though for the owners of the dry-cleaner it was a phyrric victory as they spent more than 80,000$ on legal fees. (Pearson was ordered to pay the court costs, separate from legal fees.) And fortunately for us, but unfortunately for Mr Pearson, the commission that decides whether to reappoint administrative judges was meeting around that time. Surprise! He lost his job a couple of months after the case ended.
Fast forward one year and Surprise! Roy Pearson is suing the District of Columbia for the loss of his job. It's only a million dollars this time, but God only knows who he'll sue for the loss of his marbles.
At issue was a two-word sign on the counter: Satisfaction Guaranteed.
They lost his pants, so he wanted satisfaction: the cost of the pants plus compensation for his "mental suffering, inconvenience and discomfort."
Apparently never having heard the old axiom "a man who represents himself has a fool for a client," Judge Roy Pearson included in his opening statement a smidge of rhetoric: ". . . never before in recorded history have a group of defendants engaged in such misleading and unfair business practices."
Fortunately he lost, though for the owners of the dry-cleaner it was a phyrric victory as they spent more than 80,000$ on legal fees. (Pearson was ordered to pay the court costs, separate from legal fees.) And fortunately for us, but unfortunately for Mr Pearson, the commission that decides whether to reappoint administrative judges was meeting around that time. Surprise! He lost his job a couple of months after the case ended.
Fast forward one year and Surprise! Roy Pearson is suing the District of Columbia for the loss of his job. It's only a million dollars this time, but God only knows who he'll sue for the loss of his marbles.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Fact or Fiction?
Yesterday when I picked Hannah up from school her teacher was busy making a birthday crown. For Hannah. Whose birthday is in October. This is not the first time she’s told people a bit of a tall tale: So far this school year, Hannah has had at least three birthdays; I have given birth four times—once to twin boys; we went to Hollywood so Hannah could audition for a movie; and she used to have a brother, but he died when he was twelve. And these are just the doozies.
As you may have guessed, Hannah has a tough time differentiating between fact and fiction. That or she’s already figured out that fiction is often way more entertaining. Assuming that her flights of fancy don’t hurt anyone or result in a visit from CPS, I don’t want to crush that spirit. So now whenever I’m not entirely sure about a story (or even sometimes if I’m absolutely certain that it’s not true), I’ll just ask if it’s the truth or her imagination. This worked for a while but now she has started adding “For real Mom!” to the end of pretty much everything.
So as we walked home, pink birthday crown set jauntily on her head, I decided that it was time that Hannah heard the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. I even gave her both endings, first “and the wolf ate him” followed by the more benign, Disneyfied version that has Peter running all the way home, the wolf snapping at his heels. “And he never lied again.”
I let it sink in for a minute before asking if she knew what the moral of the story was.
“Well . . . I think probably that he should never go up that mountain again.”
As you may have guessed, Hannah has a tough time differentiating between fact and fiction. That or she’s already figured out that fiction is often way more entertaining. Assuming that her flights of fancy don’t hurt anyone or result in a visit from CPS, I don’t want to crush that spirit. So now whenever I’m not entirely sure about a story (or even sometimes if I’m absolutely certain that it’s not true), I’ll just ask if it’s the truth or her imagination. This worked for a while but now she has started adding “For real Mom!” to the end of pretty much everything.
So as we walked home, pink birthday crown set jauntily on her head, I decided that it was time that Hannah heard the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. I even gave her both endings, first “and the wolf ate him” followed by the more benign, Disneyfied version that has Peter running all the way home, the wolf snapping at his heels. “And he never lied again.”
I let it sink in for a minute before asking if she knew what the moral of the story was.
“Well . . . I think probably that he should never go up that mountain again.”
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Doodle 4 Google
Doh! How did I miss this?
Yesterday Google announced the winner of this year's Doodle 4 Google contest, in which kids in grades K-12 are challenged to design a Google logo around a particular theme. I love the overall winner, but--even without seeing the K-3 winner, I'm pretty sure that Hannah could have cleaned up in that age group. (Why yes, I am a tad biased. Does it show?)
The Grand Prize for the overall winner, 6th grader Grace (Suryung) Moon, was a 10,000$ scholarship and a 25,000$ technology grant for her school. The winner in each grade group gets a laptop computer.
Someone remind me about this next year. Our school could use that technology grant.
Yesterday Google announced the winner of this year's Doodle 4 Google contest, in which kids in grades K-12 are challenged to design a Google logo around a particular theme. I love the overall winner, but--even without seeing the K-3 winner, I'm pretty sure that Hannah could have cleaned up in that age group. (Why yes, I am a tad biased. Does it show?)
The Grand Prize for the overall winner, 6th grader Grace (Suryung) Moon, was a 10,000$ scholarship and a 25,000$ technology grant for her school. The winner in each grade group gets a laptop computer.
Someone remind me about this next year. Our school could use that technology grant.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Sit Down and Shut Up!
No, not you. This is for the sub-human morons who are applauding the fact that Ted Kennedy has what is most likely a fatal brain tumor. Assholes. I wouldn't wish that on Karl Rove or Dick Cheney.
Oh, and thanks for making me boost my cuss-o-meter.
Oh, and thanks for making me boost my cuss-o-meter.
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Weekly Dammit, #26
Charlotte's MRI is over, done and clean (more later, because that is definitely not a dammit). My funk is gone (connection?). The Weekly Dammit is back.
Dammit #1:
Throughout the war in Iraq, the Bush administration's advice to We the People was, essentially, to not bother our pretty little heads over it and oh by the way, how about a nice shopping spree. So all this time, while I've been thinking W a doofus, an idiot, a dolt and worse, it never occurred to me that, though he never asked for anything from us, he had quietly been making his own sacrifice: He gave up golf.
Dammit #2:
I can't sign Hannah up for any of the Redwood City summer camps that her friends are going to because she won't be six until October. The camps are geared toward incoming first graders and older, but rules are rules and Hannah is still five. The lovely people at registration did suggest that I put her in one (or more!) of the Pollywogs camps. With the three- to five-year olds. Thanks, but I'm going to give our camp funds to the Cantor Arts Center again.
Dammit #3:
The Gmail blog announced this month that they've been working to get the mail to load faster. Which explains why mine takes three times longer than it used to, when signing on and when trying to refresh. Of course, I probably don't need to refresh since it will do it on its own eventually, but I like the little thrill of anticipation--maybe there will be something new! exciting! profitable! there.
Dammit #4:
Argus has taken to sleeping on our bed again.
Dammit #5:
Charlotte just washed her hands using an entire bottle of soap. While I"m happy that she takes her personal hygiene so seriously, I think that 7.5 ounces of soap might be overkill.
Dammit #1:
Throughout the war in Iraq, the Bush administration's advice to We the People was, essentially, to not bother our pretty little heads over it and oh by the way, how about a nice shopping spree. So all this time, while I've been thinking W a doofus, an idiot, a dolt and worse, it never occurred to me that, though he never asked for anything from us, he had quietly been making his own sacrifice: He gave up golf.
Dammit #2:
I can't sign Hannah up for any of the Redwood City summer camps that her friends are going to because she won't be six until October. The camps are geared toward incoming first graders and older, but rules are rules and Hannah is still five. The lovely people at registration did suggest that I put her in one (or more!) of the Pollywogs camps. With the three- to five-year olds. Thanks, but I'm going to give our camp funds to the Cantor Arts Center again.
Dammit #3:
The Gmail blog announced this month that they've been working to get the mail to load faster. Which explains why mine takes three times longer than it used to, when signing on and when trying to refresh. Of course, I probably don't need to refresh since it will do it on its own eventually, but I like the little thrill of anticipation--maybe there will be something new! exciting! profitable! there.
Dammit #4:
Argus has taken to sleeping on our bed again.
Dammit #5:
Charlotte just washed her hands using an entire bottle of soap. While I"m happy that she takes her personal hygiene so seriously, I think that 7.5 ounces of soap might be overkill.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Random Question of the Week
Originally, the question was "How long can one go without writing one's book before one has to stop saying that one is writing a book?"
Instead the question has become: "If one is constantly composing lines, paragraphs and chapters in one's head, does that still count as writing the book even if those lines, paragraphs and chapters don't always make it on to paper?"
I'm going to break tradition and actually answer this one: "Yes!"
Because I feel like less of a slacker that way.
Instead the question has become: "If one is constantly composing lines, paragraphs and chapters in one's head, does that still count as writing the book even if those lines, paragraphs and chapters don't always make it on to paper?"
I'm going to break tradition and actually answer this one: "Yes!"
Because I feel like less of a slacker that way.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Bonus Dammit, #25-1/2
Dammit #1:
The San Jose Sharks fired Ron Wilson yesterday. He's won more games than any other Sharks coach and, with 518 wins overall, is eighth in NHL history. Good move.
Dammit #2:
Reading an article in the Washington Post today about the racist attitudes faced by many of Obama's supporters and campaign workers, I couldn't decide which of my reactions was the worst and/or most naive: 1) Shock, that this still happens; 2) Dismay, that this is one of the attitudes being exploited with comments like "hard working, white Americans." By other Democrats; or 3) Fear, of what some are capable of when they are unable to tolerate difference and change.
I've decided to crush those thoughts under my overwhelming joy that, whatever the outcome of the Democratic convention, we are going to have either an African American president, or a woman. So that's the anti-Dammit.
The San Jose Sharks fired Ron Wilson yesterday. He's won more games than any other Sharks coach and, with 518 wins overall, is eighth in NHL history. Good move.
Dammit #2:
Reading an article in the Washington Post today about the racist attitudes faced by many of Obama's supporters and campaign workers, I couldn't decide which of my reactions was the worst and/or most naive: 1) Shock, that this still happens; 2) Dismay, that this is one of the attitudes being exploited with comments like "hard working, white Americans." By other Democrats; or 3) Fear, of what some are capable of when they are unable to tolerate difference and change.
I've decided to crush those thoughts under my overwhelming joy that, whatever the outcome of the Democratic convention, we are going to have either an African American president, or a woman. So that's the anti-Dammit.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Dammit, #25
Dammit #1:
That this was an actual, not-trying-to-be-funny (I think) headline in the Washington Post today: "Americans Losing Confidence in Current Leadership."
Dammit #2:
The military junta in control of Myanmar/Burma is seizing the food, water, building supplies and money sent into the country to help those devastated by the cyclone. In some cases they seem to be taking it for themselves, in others to make sure that they are seen as the benevolent rescuers of their people. Some wealthy citizens have reported that they have been prevented from helping their fellow countrymen. The only upside of this is that many of the Burmese people seem to be on to them.
Dammit #3:
Between scheduling summer camps for Hannah, swim classes for Charlotte, a trip to Virginia in June (!) and trying not to worry about Charlotte's MRI, I haven't had much time for Dammits lately. That might seem like a good thing, but I kind of like the Dammits, if only because they're a sign that I'm getting outside of myself. Sure, that's not all that I look for in life, but you can't always write about sunshine and roses; someone is bound to want to punch you. Dammit.
That this was an actual, not-trying-to-be-funny (I think) headline in the Washington Post today: "Americans Losing Confidence in Current Leadership."
Dammit #2:
The military junta in control of Myanmar/Burma is seizing the food, water, building supplies and money sent into the country to help those devastated by the cyclone. In some cases they seem to be taking it for themselves, in others to make sure that they are seen as the benevolent rescuers of their people. Some wealthy citizens have reported that they have been prevented from helping their fellow countrymen. The only upside of this is that many of the Burmese people seem to be on to them.
Dammit #3:
Between scheduling summer camps for Hannah, swim classes for Charlotte, a trip to Virginia in June (!) and trying not to worry about Charlotte's MRI, I haven't had much time for Dammits lately. That might seem like a good thing, but I kind of like the Dammits, if only because they're a sign that I'm getting outside of myself. Sure, that's not all that I look for in life, but you can't always write about sunshine and roses; someone is bound to want to punch you. Dammit.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Gollum Lives in My Gym
Gollum lives in my gym, hiding behind her iPod Nano
The elliptical cringes under the relentless desperation
As her legs pump obsessively. The rate never slows
Except to change direction
Gollum’s precious is no longer the ring
Slipped from bony finger, betrayed by howl and shriek
No. Precious is now the noontime shadow
With whom she furiously competes
Gollum lives in my gym, hiding behind her iPod Nano
The elliptical cringes under the relentless desperation
As her legs pump obsessively. The rate never slows
Except to change direction
Gollum’s precious is no longer the ring
Slipped from bony finger, betrayed by howl and shriek
No. Precious is now the noontime shadow
With whom she furiously competes
Gollum lives in my gym, hiding behind her iPod Nano
Friday, May 02, 2008
The Dammit, #24
I'm dropping "Weekly" from the title until I can get my act together and once again start posting this one, well, weekly. Dammit. It's been awhile, so let's get right to it:
Dammit #1:
Magic Wands. The little man still won't (can't?) face the very obvious fact that the economy is in the tank, or that gas prices are hurting a lot of people who don't have access financial resources on par with his own, or that he is now the lowest-rated president in history. (That last one is in part because he believes that, while history will judge his actions, actual presidential historians have no idea what they're talking about or comparing him to.) So what's a poor imbecile to do? Suggest that, if he had one, he might wave the very magic wand which would have kept his core constituency from voting for him in the first place.
Dammit #2:
On the Obama/Rev. Wright issue: People across the country are, at the least, uncomfortable with and at the at the worst, vilifying Barack Obama for not denouncing his former pastor's controversial comments sooner. But after 9/11, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson blamed the attack on pagans, gays, lesbians, secularists, the ACLU, abortionists and feminists. George Bush eventually declared the comments “inappropriate.” He was slower still to respond to conservative commentator Robert Knight, who laid the blame for Abu Gharib on many of the same groups, and, for good measure, tossed in the porn industry and the military for allowing women in combat zones.
I’ve heard many people say that Obama should be held to a higher standard because he is a history-making candidate and (yes, still) probable Presidential nominee. But why is he held to a higher standard than the current President of the U.S, who had also made history by virtue of being one of the most disliked, distrusted, polarizing presidents we’ve ever had?
Dammit #3:
Charlotte is having an MRI in two weeks. Her appointment time is 1:30 p.m. Because this has to be done under general anesthesia, she can't have any food after midnight, or liquids six hours prior to the procedure. 13+ hours with no food for a three year old. Dammit. That she has to have an MRI: double Dammit. That it's under general anesthesia: triple (or more) Dammit.
Dammit #1:
Magic Wands. The little man still won't (can't?) face the very obvious fact that the economy is in the tank, or that gas prices are hurting a lot of people who don't have access financial resources on par with his own, or that he is now the lowest-rated president in history. (That last one is in part because he believes that, while history will judge his actions, actual presidential historians have no idea what they're talking about or comparing him to.) So what's a poor imbecile to do? Suggest that, if he had one, he might wave the very magic wand which would have kept his core constituency from voting for him in the first place.
Dammit #2:
On the Obama/Rev. Wright issue: People across the country are, at the least, uncomfortable with and at the at the worst, vilifying Barack Obama for not denouncing his former pastor's controversial comments sooner. But after 9/11, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson blamed the attack on pagans, gays, lesbians, secularists, the ACLU, abortionists and feminists. George Bush eventually declared the comments “inappropriate.” He was slower still to respond to conservative commentator Robert Knight, who laid the blame for Abu Gharib on many of the same groups, and, for good measure, tossed in the porn industry and the military for allowing women in combat zones.
I’ve heard many people say that Obama should be held to a higher standard because he is a history-making candidate and (yes, still) probable Presidential nominee. But why is he held to a higher standard than the current President of the U.S, who had also made history by virtue of being one of the most disliked, distrusted, polarizing presidents we’ve ever had?
Dammit #3:
Charlotte is having an MRI in two weeks. Her appointment time is 1:30 p.m. Because this has to be done under general anesthesia, she can't have any food after midnight, or liquids six hours prior to the procedure. 13+ hours with no food for a three year old. Dammit. That she has to have an MRI: double Dammit. That it's under general anesthesia: triple (or more) Dammit.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Love the Skin You're In
My favorite sister-in-law has many times remarked that she wished for skin like mine. Flattering, but embarrassing, as I’ve always taken it for granted and never given much thought, or wasted much time or money on it. For years my “regimen” was soap and water. I rarely wear makeup and when I do I generally forget to wash it off before I go to bed. But not so long ago I woke up to find that Mother Time had sambaed her way across my face, leaving tiny footprints under my eyes. And with the approach of what will be my fifth California summer, my freckles have banded together on their yearly trek across my cheekbones and nose, this time inviting along several of their heretofore-unknown relatives.
I don’t mind, very much, these subtle signs of aging, but it is disconcerting to still feel 20-ish (29, to be exact) and see an almost-40 year old in the mirror. Stranger still, The Pet Shop Boys, REM and myriad other bands from my youth are now officially antiques. And my 20-year high school reunion allegedly took place last summer.
Recently I’ve upped the amount of time and money I spend dermatologically and have had a couple of professional facials. As a result I have switched to an SPF 15 moisturizer, though at my last visit the esthetician told me that 1) I need to switch again to an SPF 30; 2) I need a moisturizer with vitamins (80$ an ounce from the spa); 3) an intensive moisturizer for my eye area might help with my "laugh" lines (100$ an ounce); 4) my freckles, though charming, are becoming more prominent; and 5) a big hat might be a good investment. I knew most of this already but it didn’t change the fact that the eyebrow burning I got from Elizabeth Arden* was probably less painful than hearing it put so bluntly.
It must appear that I’m not taking this aging thing gracefully, but I really don’t mind it so much. When I was very young I never thought I’d live to see 33 (and no, I don’t know why 33). But my 30s have been very good to me and I’ve never once wished to relive my teenage years. I have much more to show for my not-so-many-after all years than a few lines and blotches, though as I fully expect to live at least another 38 years, I’m sure I’ll revisit the blotches-and-lines issue at least once more.
So to my sister-in-law I say, “Congratulations! You have your wish.” But I must add that I’ve always loved your freckles. Now if only I may grow to have half your goodness and generosity and humor, I’ll be happy indeed.
* Not personally, but that is the name on the door.
I don’t mind, very much, these subtle signs of aging, but it is disconcerting to still feel 20-ish (29, to be exact) and see an almost-40 year old in the mirror. Stranger still, The Pet Shop Boys, REM and myriad other bands from my youth are now officially antiques. And my 20-year high school reunion allegedly took place last summer.
Recently I’ve upped the amount of time and money I spend dermatologically and have had a couple of professional facials. As a result I have switched to an SPF 15 moisturizer, though at my last visit the esthetician told me that 1) I need to switch again to an SPF 30; 2) I need a moisturizer with vitamins (80$ an ounce from the spa); 3) an intensive moisturizer for my eye area might help with my "laugh" lines (100$ an ounce); 4) my freckles, though charming, are becoming more prominent; and 5) a big hat might be a good investment. I knew most of this already but it didn’t change the fact that the eyebrow burning I got from Elizabeth Arden* was probably less painful than hearing it put so bluntly.
It must appear that I’m not taking this aging thing gracefully, but I really don’t mind it so much. When I was very young I never thought I’d live to see 33 (and no, I don’t know why 33). But my 30s have been very good to me and I’ve never once wished to relive my teenage years. I have much more to show for my not-so-many-after all years than a few lines and blotches, though as I fully expect to live at least another 38 years, I’m sure I’ll revisit the blotches-and-lines issue at least once more.
So to my sister-in-law I say, “Congratulations! You have your wish.” But I must add that I’ve always loved your freckles. Now if only I may grow to have half your goodness and generosity and humor, I’ll be happy indeed.
* Not personally, but that is the name on the door.