February 28, 2007
Announcement and Apology from the Management
The management, of course, being me, in my living room, on the couch, with the laptop. I'm tagging (adding labels) to prior posts, and it is my understanding that when I edit old (back to 2005!) posts, people who have live feeds (including DC Blogs, my apologies) get notices of these old posts as if they were new. They're not. This process will take another week or so, and then the annoyance will stop. My apologies, but I do want tags and labels for my own personal sorting pleasure (and it is, as always, all about me). So sorry.
February 26, 2007
"Fatherhood is a well-regarded theory. Motherhood is a fact."*
I normally find P.J. O'Rourke amusing, but annoying. His worldview is just way to shallow. That's the twenty-first century zeitgeist I guess. But O'Rourke actually touches on a lot of interesting issues without sounding unbearably smug in "Mapping Innvovation", and the title quote refers to seeking female empowerment to determine if societies have the capacity to innovate. O'Rourke posits that women having self-determination and societal influence is essential for innovation and progress.
Historically, this makes sense. During the time that Islam was a religion that was progressive (I'd say 700-1200 or 1400 C.E. give or take 100 years**) and fostered scientific, mathematical, architectural, and artistic creativity, it was much more progressive toward women than medieval and dark age Europe. Now I realize, neither culture treated women well, but at that time, Christian monks were debating whether women had souls at all, and Islam embraced the idea that women were fully-souled and sentient beings, which was a big breakthroughs. And while the property rights set forth for women then under Islam now look regressive to modern ideas, they were a huge step forward then: women had the right to own property, inherit property, make contracts, etc. Limited, of course, but the women (if they were free, one must add) could be other than chattel. They could be independent actors.
Now, what we think of as fundamentalist Islamic societies appear to treat women much worse than most Western countries, comparatively, but also compared to the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed, I would argue that these societies are failing even by 8th century standards.
It should come as no surprise to anyone that the Islamic World, which used to be a leader of innovation and an economic superpower, isn't.
Countries with high status for women do better economically, and they have all the good features like low infant mortality rates: Scandinavia in particular, Western Europe, particular the Northern countries.
Countries where women are not empowered tend to be poorer. China and India, where females are low status enough that sex-selective abortion and female infanticide ahve been practice, are, surprise, surprise, poor. Pretty much all of Africa, the status of women stinks and so does the economic and political climate. The transmission of AIDS in Africa and the effect on its children I see as being directly linked to the horrible status of women there. Women can't say no to sex in many more circumstances than I would like to contemplate (Guys: if she has to have sex with you to avoid getting beat up, or to be able to eat tomorrow or to feed her children, stop and think about it -- she really doesn't desire you and the pleasure ain't mutual) and also cannot insist on their partner being monogamous or wearing protection.
The status of women there is so low that the AIDS workers come up with really horrifying ways to describe the fact that many of the women most at risk can't adequately protect themselves. Especially in the wake of the epidemic of rape transmitted by the men conducting the endless and futile wars metasticizing out from Congo, Sudan, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Uganda, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Nigeria, Chad, Angola[insert current site of horrifying news and footage or place the one that stuck in your memory most before you stopped paying attention here]. Nope, I'm not seeing a bright future there for a good long time.
I could go on, but it's too damn depressing. I'll just quickly say: compare North American and South America on the wealth/health link to status of women. Same with Northern and Southern Europe. Of course there are exceptions to this rule, but I remember someone (chauvinistic) telling me that in patriarchal cultures life is more highly valued and thinking that this person must not be aware of Indian bride-burning, sex-selective abortion, Chinese female infanticide, the history of Africa for the last fifty years, the horrible human rights abuses seeming out of the macho cultures of South and Central America, the truly life-affirming (let's stone 'em to death) patriarchal cultures and governments operating in Saudi Arabia, Iran, and other countries. Hey, the Taliban were nothing if not male-dominated and patriarchal. Women's status and empowerment in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan couldn't have been lower: they really didn't exist (they couldn't work and couldn't get an education).
Aside from the typical feminist tropes*** regarding patriarchy, treating women as the sex-class, and male-entitlement, I wonder how to move to more power for women. In the U.S. people always talk as though we are on the leading edge, but we're not. Heck, insurance here covered Viagra before it ever covered birth-control. Put the Viagra away. Without effective contraception, I'll always have a headache. Heck, the Phillipines had a women chief executive before the U.S. had a female speaker of the house.
I don't think that being depressed and noting every instance of sexism in the world really does much good. I don't think it does any good to think of it as a conspiracy or to think of men as women's enemies. Especially if one is asking for things+ from the oppressor. So here's the deal. In the U.S., our infant mortality rates are abysmal. They are a disgrace. Every U.S. citizen should want to rate above thirty-six. I'm not surprised that Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Iceland, France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Portugal (known for the greatness of its medical establishment, I'm sure), the U.K., Italy, Spain, and Switzerland rank above us. But former iron curtain countries like Slovenia the Czech Republic (and Croatia, at thirty-seven and coming off the nasty disintegration of Yugoslavia still manages its resources to be almost at our level*+), Singapore and Hong Kong rate way, way above us. Smaller nations, like Malta, Andorra, Liechtenstein, San Marino, Macau, and Monaco we need not feel as embarrassed about, because the smallness means that simpler health care systems can be organized, etc. But Cuba? Greece? Taiwan?
So how to get the real important business of having, raising, and educating children (and providing them with health care) on the political agenda in the U.S.? Not by asking for it, that's for damn sure. That worked so well with the Equal Rights Amendment. How to get the understanding of reality based on the fact of motherhood (rather than a Bushian understanding of the "theory"*++ of fatherhood)? The fact that childhood is a very short window, is precious, is our future, and is irreplaceable? The fact that we all need to take care of one another, and not everyone is so lucky as to have guardian angels in South Carolina, Australia, New England, New Jersey, Alexandria, and Kent/Bromptom stepping in to fill the gaps?
Any ideas? I read the feminist websites, but I don't want to sit around talking about inequality. We've been doing that since I was in high school ('76-'80 or thereabouts, give or take a few years for anonymity) to no real differences.
The Foilwoman Agenda: Decent and affordable child care. Universal health care. Paid maternity leave (and for more than six weeks: the baby is too young at that point, and needs to be nursed and with its Mama). Birth control (and abortion) covered under insurance. Men requesting Viagra being required to pass a test showing that their technique is such that the event might possibly be pleasurable for someone.*+++ I'll add more to the list later. But why, in 2007 are these incredibly reasonable goals for a wealthy**+ nation. It's sort of like asking for milk to drink when you're pregnant. It's needed, and we have (or should make available) the resources.
Maybe I'll up the anti-depressants. Note to self: call nice Shrink tomorrow.
*Quote from P.J. O'Rourke, "Mapping Innovation," The Atlantic, Vol. 299, #1, January/February 2007, pp. 126-129, at p. 127.
**Muslim Spain certainly wasn't a bastion of Scandinavian-style liberalism and tolerance, but compared to what came after it (the Reconquista and the Inquisition) one can only consider it's culture incredibly benign for its era. Islam from 700-1200 or so (possibly as late as 1400, but once the Renaissance kicked in, the balance shifts) was the scientific and cultural light of the world. All the Greek philosophers we like to read? Thank Islam for treasuring those books and saving them. Science, math, astronomy, etc. all flourished under Islam.
***Just assume I agree with them, but I'm not going to reiterate them. I just want to not that I am not disagreeing.
+If someone is truly an oppressor of another person or group of people, then the technique of saying "Please don't oppress us" strikes me as foolish and naive. It wasn't the public opinion of the South (read Bible Belt, and Southern Baptist Church, you sure have a shitload to answer for) that the Southern Christian Leadership Council++ was asking for help. It was the U.S. to the north of the Mason-Dixon line and the eyes of the world. Orvil Farbus (sp?) and Sherriff Brown weren't going to change without a Congressional or Supreme Court (or Chief Executive, such as when Eisenhower sent the National Guard to Little Rock) kick in the backside. That wasn't shaming the white South (apparently, at least back them, incapable of feeling shame regarding race+++), it was outflanking them.
++Not Southern Baptists, that's for damn sure.
+++Hey, Ernest Hollings used to refer to Strom Thurmond as "Sperm" Thurmond, and Thurmond had no problem spouting off about the evils of miscegenation even while he practiced it, and now to my delight and surprise, I hope he spins in his grave while Al Sharpton makes hay of his relationship via slavery (and rape of female slaves, of course).
*+So we are better (in terms of infant mortality) than a former Iron Curtain country that saw a truly nasty civil war in recent memory that must have sucked a lots of its resources and encouraged out-migration. Yet they are our peer. Go them, not so much us.
*++And here's where my dislike of P.J. O'Rourke kicks in. Just saying fatherhood is a theory (and his dismissive comments toward his own children's artwork) seems to be saying "Men have more important stuff to do, that's why we need you women to do this.
It's also sort of referring to the creationist dismissal of the theory of evolution and dismissing the theory (fact) of fatherhood in much the same egregious way. P.J., if you can't dote on your kids artwork, the flaw is in you, not in your children. Know that now, and try and not be quite such a condescending and supercilious git. Yes, even though you are funny, your underlying assholity reeks through like the really nasty flatulence that it is.
*+++Because the whole Viagra thing is all about male satisfaction. If the man's real goal is to satisfy his partner -- or if that were even an equal factor in the equation -- he could learn to do that without a penis. Fingers, tongues, toys, whatever. Really. Because male orgasm isn't the be-all and end-all. Oh, this particular part of the agenda is a joke, but not a really funny one.
**+Not much longer if the spend-without-finances idiot who is running our country manages to trash our economy and currency much more, especially now that the Euro in in ascendancy.
Historically, this makes sense. During the time that Islam was a religion that was progressive (I'd say 700-1200 or 1400 C.E. give or take 100 years**) and fostered scientific, mathematical, architectural, and artistic creativity, it was much more progressive toward women than medieval and dark age Europe. Now I realize, neither culture treated women well, but at that time, Christian monks were debating whether women had souls at all, and Islam embraced the idea that women were fully-souled and sentient beings, which was a big breakthroughs. And while the property rights set forth for women then under Islam now look regressive to modern ideas, they were a huge step forward then: women had the right to own property, inherit property, make contracts, etc. Limited, of course, but the women (if they were free, one must add) could be other than chattel. They could be independent actors.
Now, what we think of as fundamentalist Islamic societies appear to treat women much worse than most Western countries, comparatively, but also compared to the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed, I would argue that these societies are failing even by 8th century standards.
It should come as no surprise to anyone that the Islamic World, which used to be a leader of innovation and an economic superpower, isn't.
Countries with high status for women do better economically, and they have all the good features like low infant mortality rates: Scandinavia in particular, Western Europe, particular the Northern countries.
Countries where women are not empowered tend to be poorer. China and India, where females are low status enough that sex-selective abortion and female infanticide ahve been practice, are, surprise, surprise, poor. Pretty much all of Africa, the status of women stinks and so does the economic and political climate. The transmission of AIDS in Africa and the effect on its children I see as being directly linked to the horrible status of women there. Women can't say no to sex in many more circumstances than I would like to contemplate (Guys: if she has to have sex with you to avoid getting beat up, or to be able to eat tomorrow or to feed her children, stop and think about it -- she really doesn't desire you and the pleasure ain't mutual) and also cannot insist on their partner being monogamous or wearing protection.
The status of women there is so low that the AIDS workers come up with really horrifying ways to describe the fact that many of the women most at risk can't adequately protect themselves. Especially in the wake of the epidemic of rape transmitted by the men conducting the endless and futile wars metasticizing out from Congo, Sudan, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Uganda, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Nigeria, Chad, Angola[insert current site of horrifying news and footage or place the one that stuck in your memory most before you stopped paying attention here]. Nope, I'm not seeing a bright future there for a good long time.
I could go on, but it's too damn depressing. I'll just quickly say: compare North American and South America on the wealth/health link to status of women. Same with Northern and Southern Europe. Of course there are exceptions to this rule, but I remember someone (chauvinistic) telling me that in patriarchal cultures life is more highly valued and thinking that this person must not be aware of Indian bride-burning, sex-selective abortion, Chinese female infanticide, the history of Africa for the last fifty years, the horrible human rights abuses seeming out of the macho cultures of South and Central America, the truly life-affirming (let's stone 'em to death) patriarchal cultures and governments operating in Saudi Arabia, Iran, and other countries. Hey, the Taliban were nothing if not male-dominated and patriarchal. Women's status and empowerment in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan couldn't have been lower: they really didn't exist (they couldn't work and couldn't get an education).
Aside from the typical feminist tropes*** regarding patriarchy, treating women as the sex-class, and male-entitlement, I wonder how to move to more power for women. In the U.S. people always talk as though we are on the leading edge, but we're not. Heck, insurance here covered Viagra before it ever covered birth-control. Put the Viagra away. Without effective contraception, I'll always have a headache. Heck, the Phillipines had a women chief executive before the U.S. had a female speaker of the house.
I don't think that being depressed and noting every instance of sexism in the world really does much good. I don't think it does any good to think of it as a conspiracy or to think of men as women's enemies. Especially if one is asking for things+ from the oppressor. So here's the deal. In the U.S., our infant mortality rates are abysmal. They are a disgrace. Every U.S. citizen should want to rate above thirty-six. I'm not surprised that Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Iceland, France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Portugal (known for the greatness of its medical establishment, I'm sure), the U.K., Italy, Spain, and Switzerland rank above us. But former iron curtain countries like Slovenia the Czech Republic (and Croatia, at thirty-seven and coming off the nasty disintegration of Yugoslavia still manages its resources to be almost at our level*+), Singapore and Hong Kong rate way, way above us. Smaller nations, like Malta, Andorra, Liechtenstein, San Marino, Macau, and Monaco we need not feel as embarrassed about, because the smallness means that simpler health care systems can be organized, etc. But Cuba? Greece? Taiwan?
So how to get the real important business of having, raising, and educating children (and providing them with health care) on the political agenda in the U.S.? Not by asking for it, that's for damn sure. That worked so well with the Equal Rights Amendment. How to get the understanding of reality based on the fact of motherhood (rather than a Bushian understanding of the "theory"*++ of fatherhood)? The fact that childhood is a very short window, is precious, is our future, and is irreplaceable? The fact that we all need to take care of one another, and not everyone is so lucky as to have guardian angels in South Carolina, Australia, New England, New Jersey, Alexandria, and Kent/Bromptom stepping in to fill the gaps?
Any ideas? I read the feminist websites, but I don't want to sit around talking about inequality. We've been doing that since I was in high school ('76-'80 or thereabouts, give or take a few years for anonymity) to no real differences.
The Foilwoman Agenda: Decent and affordable child care. Universal health care. Paid maternity leave (and for more than six weeks: the baby is too young at that point, and needs to be nursed and with its Mama). Birth control (and abortion) covered under insurance. Men requesting Viagra being required to pass a test showing that their technique is such that the event might possibly be pleasurable for someone.*+++ I'll add more to the list later. But why, in 2007 are these incredibly reasonable goals for a wealthy**+ nation. It's sort of like asking for milk to drink when you're pregnant. It's needed, and we have (or should make available) the resources.
Maybe I'll up the anti-depressants. Note to self: call nice Shrink tomorrow.
*Quote from P.J. O'Rourke, "Mapping Innovation," The Atlantic, Vol. 299, #1, January/February 2007, pp. 126-129, at p. 127.
**Muslim Spain certainly wasn't a bastion of Scandinavian-style liberalism and tolerance, but compared to what came after it (the Reconquista and the Inquisition) one can only consider it's culture incredibly benign for its era. Islam from 700-1200 or so (possibly as late as 1400, but once the Renaissance kicked in, the balance shifts) was the scientific and cultural light of the world. All the Greek philosophers we like to read? Thank Islam for treasuring those books and saving them. Science, math, astronomy, etc. all flourished under Islam.
***Just assume I agree with them, but I'm not going to reiterate them. I just want to not that I am not disagreeing.
+If someone is truly an oppressor of another person or group of people, then the technique of saying "Please don't oppress us" strikes me as foolish and naive. It wasn't the public opinion of the South (read Bible Belt, and Southern Baptist Church, you sure have a shitload to answer for) that the Southern Christian Leadership Council++ was asking for help. It was the U.S. to the north of the Mason-Dixon line and the eyes of the world. Orvil Farbus (sp?) and Sherriff Brown weren't going to change without a Congressional or Supreme Court (or Chief Executive, such as when Eisenhower sent the National Guard to Little Rock) kick in the backside. That wasn't shaming the white South (apparently, at least back them, incapable of feeling shame regarding race+++), it was outflanking them.
++Not Southern Baptists, that's for damn sure.
+++Hey, Ernest Hollings used to refer to Strom Thurmond as "Sperm" Thurmond, and Thurmond had no problem spouting off about the evils of miscegenation even while he practiced it, and now to my delight and surprise, I hope he spins in his grave while Al Sharpton makes hay of his relationship via slavery (and rape of female slaves, of course).
*+So we are better (in terms of infant mortality) than a former Iron Curtain country that saw a truly nasty civil war in recent memory that must have sucked a lots of its resources and encouraged out-migration. Yet they are our peer. Go them, not so much us.
*++And here's where my dislike of P.J. O'Rourke kicks in. Just saying fatherhood is a theory (and his dismissive comments toward his own children's artwork) seems to be saying "Men have more important stuff to do, that's why we need you women to do this.
It's also sort of referring to the creationist dismissal of the theory of evolution and dismissing the theory (fact) of fatherhood in much the same egregious way. P.J., if you can't dote on your kids artwork, the flaw is in you, not in your children. Know that now, and try and not be quite such a condescending and supercilious git. Yes, even though you are funny, your underlying assholity reeks through like the really nasty flatulence that it is.
*+++Because the whole Viagra thing is all about male satisfaction. If the man's real goal is to satisfy his partner -- or if that were even an equal factor in the equation -- he could learn to do that without a penis. Fingers, tongues, toys, whatever. Really. Because male orgasm isn't the be-all and end-all. Oh, this particular part of the agenda is a joke, but not a really funny one.
**+Not much longer if the spend-without-finances idiot who is running our country manages to trash our economy and currency much more, especially now that the Euro in in ascendancy.
February 25, 2007
When Your Very, Very Best Is Not Good At All
You know how most of the time when you go to a community theater production, you're hoping it isn't very bad, and you're pleasantly surprised that the production is enjoyable (not great, not awash in creativity, but fun to watch and fun for the performers to participate it)? This wasn't one of those time.
I am not going to name the production or the theater company (because really, it is community theater, and these people are doing this for no personal gain and if they totally fail, at some level, they know), but reast assured, last night I attended the worst live show (I've seen worse movies, Confinement for instance) I have ever attended. Including grade school productions, which at least have the benefit of adorable children mutilating the lines.
The set wasn't great but it was okay. The costumes were fine. The actors knew their lines. The problem was that the play was a recreation of a filmed romantic comedy (where, as Innana wisely noted, the director could use lots of close-ups, etc. and other techniques available in film but not on stage, to make the audience identify with the actors and believe in the budding romance), and the two lead actors could not act and had no chemistry.
The male lead had no intonation whatsoever. None. He simply spoke his lines loudly. Without affect. The female lead was a bit better, but not much. Part of the problem was that the director clearly didn't do a lot of motion exercises, and had the bright idea of establishing the decade in question (the 80s) by having era-specific pop-music on, relatively loudly, so the actors really did have to bellow. It's a bit hard to come across as romantic whne you're trying to be heard over I'm A Wild One.
Another problem was pixies. This started before the show did. They were in the audience wearing annoyingly fey outfits and makeup (they were teenagers) and I commented indulgently to Innana: "They're probably out here trying to find their parents and get their photos taken." No. They got up close and personal with (knitting) audience members, without any apparent purpose. That was the first I knew the play would have pixies. Not a good sign.
The program notes stated that no pixies were harmed in the production of the show. That's only because I was with Innana knitting a lace top for her, and there's no way she wouldn't know the eerily blood-like dark brown intermingling with the turquoise blue of her soon-to-be new top wasn't pixie-blood. If Innana hadn't been there, I would have been seriously tempted.
One other comment Innana made is that all actors should take dance lessons, and I now know why. These people hadn't. Both pixies were pretty lightweight, but both had a heavy tread. None of the actors had any idea of modulating, restricting, or focusing hand gestures, and the blocking allowed for no depth whatsoever. It was kinetically dull. Or completely non-kinetic.
Anyway, it's official. I was at the worst play ever performed. I got about two inches of the back of Innana's lace top done, so it wasn't a total loss.
I am not going to name the production or the theater company (because really, it is community theater, and these people are doing this for no personal gain and if they totally fail, at some level, they know), but reast assured, last night I attended the worst live show (I've seen worse movies, Confinement for instance) I have ever attended. Including grade school productions, which at least have the benefit of adorable children mutilating the lines.
The set wasn't great but it was okay. The costumes were fine. The actors knew their lines. The problem was that the play was a recreation of a filmed romantic comedy (where, as Innana wisely noted, the director could use lots of close-ups, etc. and other techniques available in film but not on stage, to make the audience identify with the actors and believe in the budding romance), and the two lead actors could not act and had no chemistry.
The male lead had no intonation whatsoever. None. He simply spoke his lines loudly. Without affect. The female lead was a bit better, but not much. Part of the problem was that the director clearly didn't do a lot of motion exercises, and had the bright idea of establishing the decade in question (the 80s) by having era-specific pop-music on, relatively loudly, so the actors really did have to bellow. It's a bit hard to come across as romantic whne you're trying to be heard over I'm A Wild One.
Another problem was pixies. This started before the show did. They were in the audience wearing annoyingly fey outfits and makeup (they were teenagers) and I commented indulgently to Innana: "They're probably out here trying to find their parents and get their photos taken." No. They got up close and personal with (knitting) audience members, without any apparent purpose. That was the first I knew the play would have pixies. Not a good sign.
The program notes stated that no pixies were harmed in the production of the show. That's only because I was with Innana knitting a lace top for her, and there's no way she wouldn't know the eerily blood-like dark brown intermingling with the turquoise blue of her soon-to-be new top wasn't pixie-blood. If Innana hadn't been there, I would have been seriously tempted.
One other comment Innana made is that all actors should take dance lessons, and I now know why. These people hadn't. Both pixies were pretty lightweight, but both had a heavy tread. None of the actors had any idea of modulating, restricting, or focusing hand gestures, and the blocking allowed for no depth whatsoever. It was kinetically dull. Or completely non-kinetic.
Anyway, it's official. I was at the worst play ever performed. I got about two inches of the back of Innana's lace top done, so it wasn't a total loss.
February 23, 2007
Boasting and Blogging
Innana and I have had a running discussion about her overall distate for blogging, which she sees as largely anti-social (or asocial) and socially inept. She always reassures me that she doesn't feel that way about my blog (not that I find that super-reassuring).
I disagree. I believe that we all tell ourselves stories all the time, and that our narration of our lives and how we explain our lives to ourselves affects how we live and how successful we are at tackling problems we face. As an example: the person whose internal narration explains every disaster that afflicts him or her as caused by evil other people and actors has very little chance of learning and growing, whereas the person who actually looks at her or his own actions and their consequences, has a chance of making better choices the next time around, and improving his or her situation. The person who acknowledges that other people may have other desires or feelings (that have nothing to do with his or her own wants or needs) has a much better chance of understanding and meaningfully connecting with other people.
I also think that stories are important because they tell people, maybe not who we are, but who we think we are or who we want to be.
In Beowulf*, the bards and warriors boast of the warriors accomplishments, and boasting doesn't have the negative connotations that it does today. You say what you've done, possibly** with some exaggeration. These boasts are part of what makes a warrior, and are part of what led to our first*** epic poem. If it hadn't been told (if someone hadn't bragged a bit or a lot), it never would have been written.
The world view of these warriors is one that I am not unfamiliar with, and I appreciate the need to say every so often (okay, for me, every damn day or more often): life is hard, here are my struggles, see how I overcome the obstacles facing me. It helps you face the next obstacles. Or it helps me.
Now, there are those who simply write about their search for the perfect putting iron (although the search for the perfect putt could be written sort of like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which could be interesting) or the best pair of shoes or whatever. Yes, these blogs are boring. Here's a hint: don't read 'em. But people who are actually trying to make sense of the world we live it? Doesn't happen nearly often enough, online or in real life. Those people (which would include everyone here of course) should keep writing. And we should keep reading. And commenting. Feedback really does help for that sort of thought process.
*Not the best translation, but it's online and I found it quickly.
**Really, probably or definitely. But as Ex-Marine Fred would say: "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story."
***Not our first, but the first one that got recorded and saved.
I disagree. I believe that we all tell ourselves stories all the time, and that our narration of our lives and how we explain our lives to ourselves affects how we live and how successful we are at tackling problems we face. As an example: the person whose internal narration explains every disaster that afflicts him or her as caused by evil other people and actors has very little chance of learning and growing, whereas the person who actually looks at her or his own actions and their consequences, has a chance of making better choices the next time around, and improving his or her situation. The person who acknowledges that other people may have other desires or feelings (that have nothing to do with his or her own wants or needs) has a much better chance of understanding and meaningfully connecting with other people.
I also think that stories are important because they tell people, maybe not who we are, but who we think we are or who we want to be.
In Beowulf*, the bards and warriors boast of the warriors accomplishments, and boasting doesn't have the negative connotations that it does today. You say what you've done, possibly** with some exaggeration. These boasts are part of what makes a warrior, and are part of what led to our first*** epic poem. If it hadn't been told (if someone hadn't bragged a bit or a lot), it never would have been written.
The world view of these warriors is one that I am not unfamiliar with, and I appreciate the need to say every so often (okay, for me, every damn day or more often): life is hard, here are my struggles, see how I overcome the obstacles facing me. It helps you face the next obstacles. Or it helps me.
Now, there are those who simply write about their search for the perfect putting iron (although the search for the perfect putt could be written sort of like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which could be interesting) or the best pair of shoes or whatever. Yes, these blogs are boring. Here's a hint: don't read 'em. But people who are actually trying to make sense of the world we live it? Doesn't happen nearly often enough, online or in real life. Those people (which would include everyone here of course) should keep writing. And we should keep reading. And commenting. Feedback really does help for that sort of thought process.
*Not the best translation, but it's online and I found it quickly.
**Really, probably or definitely. But as Ex-Marine Fred would say: "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story."
***Not our first, but the first one that got recorded and saved.
February 22, 2007
Blogging News and Questions
First of all, I am thrilled and flattered to be listed as an Honorary Dork* on Dr. Dork's** website. I shall add dear Dr. Dork (henceforth: the Dear Dork, or would Dear Dr. Dork be better? As all acknowledge, alliteration is our friend) to the blogroll shortly.
Next, the Professor of All That Is Unnecessary*** has a new brother post, with a picture. Actually, Baron E's little brother looks a bit like an unshaven Keanu Reeves on speed+ in the picture, but since Baron E's brother clearly has more mental firepower than Keanu+++, so we'll let him get away with it. I think Baron should get some wallpaper appropriate pictures of his sibling posted, and pronto.
Tobias, what's with having the best writing around and then taking it off your blog and not posting anything new? As a reminder, I'm six feet tall, I'm very strong, I'm depressed, I'm cranky, I'm probably peri-menopausal, and I'd really like to see some posts on your blog. Don't make me prove Danny Boy right (see * below) in a reverse sort of way, but I'll smack you out if I have to do so. Don't push your luck.
Ms. Enemy, I hope everything is okay and you don't have a troll or anything. Please email me at foilwoman at gmail dot com if I could join your now private blog as a member and continue reading.
Everyone should check out Twisty Faster (I have some posts on pornography and abortion coming, inspired -- loosely, and probably in a deeply distrubing way, by her blog), especially this post and this post. What's wrong with these people (not Twisty, who is hilarious and therefore above all criticism: the people she writes about are those to whom I am referring)? I blame the patriarchy, of course.
I hope to be in a better mood tomorrow or over the weekend: I'm doing my taxes now and have become ever so slightly hopeful that I may get a refund of sorts. Oh happy day. Oh, and Innana got me more new-to-me used shoes from the Clocktower Thrift Shop. And Mr. Studmuffin sent me a Dean and Deluca gift certificate for Valentine's Day.*+
*How much more of an honor could I be given? This is even better than Danny Boy's (totally false) claim that if you don't read my blog I'll "smack you out". Heh.
**He's a real doctor. He's a real dork.
***There's a professorship in non-chocolate, non-wine, non-friendship, non-sex related things? Why? Where (so I can avoid that bad place)?
+Not good. Keanu's charm, such as it is, is in being so laid back he's practically comotose. Only in his finest oevre, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey,++ does he ever realistically seem even moderately excited about anything.
++Believe it or not, Innana and I both love both of these movies. Fine cinematography, that. The twister game with death? A vast improvement on Bergman's chess game. Really.
+++Surprised? Who doesn't have more mental firepower than Keanu? Well, for starters, here are some people who have less: Tom Cruise, Melanie Griffith, Dubya and his twin children -- combined, most Fox News reporters.
*+I may think the holiday is a bunch of crappity crap crap crap, but I'll take loot however I get it, and I do love how in the long-lasting bout of poverty and exhaustion my friends show no signs of fading away. I'm so lucky, even when I'm being cranky, grumpy, etc.
Next, the Professor of All That Is Unnecessary*** has a new brother post, with a picture. Actually, Baron E's little brother looks a bit like an unshaven Keanu Reeves on speed+ in the picture, but since Baron E's brother clearly has more mental firepower than Keanu+++, so we'll let him get away with it. I think Baron should get some wallpaper appropriate pictures of his sibling posted, and pronto.
Tobias, what's with having the best writing around and then taking it off your blog and not posting anything new? As a reminder, I'm six feet tall, I'm very strong, I'm depressed, I'm cranky, I'm probably peri-menopausal, and I'd really like to see some posts on your blog. Don't make me prove Danny Boy right (see * below) in a reverse sort of way, but I'll smack you out if I have to do so. Don't push your luck.
Ms. Enemy, I hope everything is okay and you don't have a troll or anything. Please email me at foilwoman at gmail dot com if I could join your now private blog as a member and continue reading.
Everyone should check out Twisty Faster (I have some posts on pornography and abortion coming, inspired -- loosely, and probably in a deeply distrubing way, by her blog), especially this post and this post. What's wrong with these people (not Twisty, who is hilarious and therefore above all criticism: the people she writes about are those to whom I am referring)? I blame the patriarchy, of course.
I hope to be in a better mood tomorrow or over the weekend: I'm doing my taxes now and have become ever so slightly hopeful that I may get a refund of sorts. Oh happy day. Oh, and Innana got me more new-to-me used shoes from the Clocktower Thrift Shop. And Mr. Studmuffin sent me a Dean and Deluca gift certificate for Valentine's Day.*+
*How much more of an honor could I be given? This is even better than Danny Boy's (totally false) claim that if you don't read my blog I'll "smack you out". Heh.
**He's a real doctor. He's a real dork.
***There's a professorship in non-chocolate, non-wine, non-friendship, non-sex related things? Why? Where (so I can avoid that bad place)?
+Not good. Keanu's charm, such as it is, is in being so laid back he's practically comotose. Only in his finest oevre, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey,++ does he ever realistically seem even moderately excited about anything.
++Believe it or not, Innana and I both love both of these movies. Fine cinematography, that. The twister game with death? A vast improvement on Bergman's chess game. Really.
+++Surprised? Who doesn't have more mental firepower than Keanu? Well, for starters, here are some people who have less: Tom Cruise, Melanie Griffith, Dubya and his twin children -- combined, most Fox News reporters.
*+I may think the holiday is a bunch of crappity crap crap crap, but I'll take loot however I get it, and I do love how in the long-lasting bout of poverty and exhaustion my friends show no signs of fading away. I'm so lucky, even when I'm being cranky, grumpy, etc.
February 21, 2007
Men In The Work Place*
*Please note: In the following post, gender-stereotyping (however accurate -- and believe me, it is accurate -- it may be) will occur, and if you are the sort of person who will be offended by this, I suggest you go be offended elsewhere. Thank you.
I'm not writing specifically of my current workplace (oh no!), and I'm certainly not writing from work (it's 11:59 p.m. at present, and trust me, I'm never there that late). But I will write about some work experiences involving men and women. In general, the theme is that women's emotionality (as defined by men or women like Anne Coulter) is a problem for women in the workplace, making them less effective. I think this stereotype is rot.
No woman ever screwed up her workplace as badly as England's Henry VIII screwed up his, and his screw ups were based on testosterone, male ego, male emotionality, and just being a sick fucking son of a bitch. I regard it as one of histories delightful ironies that the daughter he had a wife killed over, Elizabeth I, turned out to be a much better ruler than he was (wouldn't be hard) by severl hundred orders of magnitude. Indeed, Elizabeth, Anne, and Victoria pretty much set the high water marks for the British monarchy. And yet the country still clings to masculine primogeniture. Yup. The system that gave you Richard II, Edward II (what's with being the II? Not a good numeral, that's for damn sure), Charles I, Henry VIII and many other fine, fine examples of why hereditary monarchy just isn't the best idea ever is still working for you. Yippee.
But I digress. I'm thinking of several men I have worked with over time and several women. The women ask for help like this: "Hey, Foil. I'm in a bind and I need your help. This is what I need: [clear and concise description of need]." I gave my big boss (the woman above Ms. Bossy) some research about a new head of our agency without being asked. She mislaid it. To ask for it again, she apologized for losing it and ask me if I could, please, get it again. I did, and she thanked me.
Contrast that with Ms. Big Boss's second-in-command (we'll just call him SIC from now on, which works for me either way you read it): I had copied him on the research back in January. He also mislaid it. To get another copy, he called me, and explained how someone had lost the copy of the research that some anonymous person (really, SIC, you moron, that would be me) got him. Could I duplicate the research? I had already copied the copy (which I had kept, because I got it the first time because I knew it would be useful, that's why I got it, shit-for-brains SIC, you moron**) had gotten for him.
I do love it when I'm actually competent (happening more and more since the divorce was final). Since Ms. Big Boss had already called me about this and I had already copied it for her (and, assuming that she would have asked SIC first, and that he had already lost his copy, I made a copy for him and put it in his mailbox) I told SIC (over the phone, since he had not yet made it into the office (?)) that a copy was in his mail box. He did not manage a thank you.
Ms. Big Boss called and asked for some research and investigation about some additional points (not previously requested) which I attended to and sent to her. Then SIC stopped by and said, apropos of nothing that he thought I was missing the point (in getting Ms. Big Boss exactly watch she asked for) and went on at length about some additional questions, which it turns out were the same as Ms. Big Boss's additional questions which I had already answered. I was fuming. I hadn't missed the point. The original request was to re-send the original report I had found to Ms. Big Boss. The report was one I found and sent to her thinking it would be useful, but not in response to any specific request. When she asked follow-up, I took care of it. SIC, in asking for follow-up, had to do so by saying something in the original report was missing, rather than just saying "I'd like more information." How hard is that? I didn't write the original report, and I filled in the gaps that Ms. Big Boss wanted filled.
I realized that SIC is acting in the male-competitive mode. However, this mode is anti-productive, in that it's demotivating, insulting, and mean. Do guys like being treated like this? With insults and condescenscion? Or do men treat other men more politely, and just reserve all this nasty and unnecessary digs for women?
Another man, at another job, asked for help doing research on a computer system that to be qualified to do his job, he would have to know how to use. Again, no asking for help, just saying: "I need you to search for ". This man was not my boss. He was a colleague. While I was better at searching than he was (and most people in the office), it wasn't my job to do that for them any more than it was my job to do their typing. I'm a good typist, but I don't type for everyone whose worse at it than I am. I'd be typing for everyone except Innana then. But this man didn't think he was revealing a weakness to show that he didn't have a basic skill (to be able to do computerized research in a research and investigation-oriented job). He seemed to think he was one-upping me by "making" me do the work for him. I waited until we were at a staff meeting, and then mentioned to the boss that everyone needed a refresher course in using research tool . I then turned to the requester and gave him the results, explained how to find them next time, and suggested he sign up for the refresher course. In front of his boss. Yes, I'm not so nice when people don't say thank you. He actually looked kind of cute***, turning red like that, but I don't think he was blushing from embarrassment.
I don't think either guy learned anything from his interaction with me. Both probably just wrote me off as bitchy or as a bitter divorced woman (or worse yet, an unfeminine older woman, by which they would mean a non-fawning woman who was less than twenty years younger than their more than middle-aged selves). But I'm not going to pretend that sort of condescending, rude, and unkind (to me) behavior is acceptable. I'll do my job (or the task I've volunteered for, in the case of volunteer work) with good will and competence, but I won't pretend that jerks aren't jerks.
With SIC, I'll just wait. While it's hard to lose a job in his position, time will tell and he makes sure he always has enough rope. With enough time and attitude, he'll hand himself. Meanwhile, I'll do good work for Ms. Bossy, Ms. Big Boss, and anyone else who needs help. I just won't be all sweetness and light to those who can't appreciate help when they are given it.
Not in such a good mood today, in case you can't tell.
**Yes, I know, I called him a moron twice in one parenthetical. But really, that's showing self-restraint. I could have called him sick sick sick sick moronic moron of moronville or something like that. See how I control myself?
***Not really.
I'm not writing specifically of my current workplace (oh no!), and I'm certainly not writing from work (it's 11:59 p.m. at present, and trust me, I'm never there that late). But I will write about some work experiences involving men and women. In general, the theme is that women's emotionality (as defined by men or women like Anne Coulter) is a problem for women in the workplace, making them less effective. I think this stereotype is rot.
No woman ever screwed up her workplace as badly as England's Henry VIII screwed up his, and his screw ups were based on testosterone, male ego, male emotionality, and just being a sick fucking son of a bitch. I regard it as one of histories delightful ironies that the daughter he had a wife killed over, Elizabeth I, turned out to be a much better ruler than he was (wouldn't be hard) by severl hundred orders of magnitude. Indeed, Elizabeth, Anne, and Victoria pretty much set the high water marks for the British monarchy. And yet the country still clings to masculine primogeniture. Yup. The system that gave you Richard II, Edward II (what's with being the II? Not a good numeral, that's for damn sure), Charles I, Henry VIII and many other fine, fine examples of why hereditary monarchy just isn't the best idea ever is still working for you. Yippee.
But I digress. I'm thinking of several men I have worked with over time and several women. The women ask for help like this: "Hey, Foil. I'm in a bind and I need your help. This is what I need: [clear and concise description of need]." I gave my big boss (the woman above Ms. Bossy) some research about a new head of our agency without being asked. She mislaid it. To ask for it again, she apologized for losing it and ask me if I could, please, get it again. I did, and she thanked me.
Contrast that with Ms. Big Boss's second-in-command (we'll just call him SIC from now on, which works for me either way you read it): I had copied him on the research back in January. He also mislaid it. To get another copy, he called me, and explained how someone had lost the copy of the research that some anonymous person (really, SIC, you moron, that would be me) got him. Could I duplicate the research? I had already copied the copy (which I had kept, because I got it the first time because I knew it would be useful, that's why I got it, shit-for-brains SIC, you moron**) had gotten for him.
I do love it when I'm actually competent (happening more and more since the divorce was final). Since Ms. Big Boss had already called me about this and I had already copied it for her (and, assuming that she would have asked SIC first, and that he had already lost his copy, I made a copy for him and put it in his mailbox) I told SIC (over the phone, since he had not yet made it into the office (?)) that a copy was in his mail box. He did not manage a thank you.
Ms. Big Boss called and asked for some research and investigation about some additional points (not previously requested) which I attended to and sent to her. Then SIC stopped by and said, apropos of nothing that he thought I was missing the point (in getting Ms. Big Boss exactly watch she asked for) and went on at length about some additional questions, which it turns out were the same as Ms. Big Boss's additional questions which I had already answered. I was fuming. I hadn't missed the point. The original request was to re-send the original report I had found to Ms. Big Boss. The report was one I found and sent to her thinking it would be useful, but not in response to any specific request. When she asked follow-up, I took care of it. SIC, in asking for follow-up, had to do so by saying something in the original report was missing, rather than just saying "I'd like more information." How hard is that? I didn't write the original report, and I filled in the gaps that Ms. Big Boss wanted filled.
I realized that SIC is acting in the male-competitive mode. However, this mode is anti-productive, in that it's demotivating, insulting, and mean. Do guys like being treated like this? With insults and condescenscion? Or do men treat other men more politely, and just reserve all this nasty and unnecessary digs for women?
Another man, at another job, asked for help doing research on a computer system that to be qualified to do his job, he would have to know how to use. Again, no asking for help, just saying: "I need you to search
I don't think either guy learned anything from his interaction with me. Both probably just wrote me off as bitchy or as a bitter divorced woman (or worse yet, an unfeminine older woman, by which they would mean a non-fawning woman who was less than twenty years younger than their more than middle-aged selves). But I'm not going to pretend that sort of condescending, rude, and unkind (to me) behavior is acceptable. I'll do my job (or the task I've volunteered for, in the case of volunteer work) with good will and competence, but I won't pretend that jerks aren't jerks.
With SIC, I'll just wait. While it's hard to lose a job in his position, time will tell and he makes sure he always has enough rope. With enough time and attitude, he'll hand himself. Meanwhile, I'll do good work for Ms. Bossy, Ms. Big Boss, and anyone else who needs help. I just won't be all sweetness and light to those who can't appreciate help when they are given it.
Not in such a good mood today, in case you can't tell.
**Yes, I know, I called him a moron twice in one parenthetical. But really, that's showing self-restraint. I could have called him sick sick sick sick moronic moron of moronville or something like that. See how I control myself?
***Not really.
February 19, 2007
Cliche About Motherhood
The cliche is true. You hold them close so they can walk away.
TigerGrrl took her first plane trip alone Friday (yes, she spent most of the summer of 2005 in another country, but she didn't travel to and from there alone) and returns to day. She went to LOS to learn to ski. They hadn't had any snow, but last week did, so that worked out well. Fortunately, she wasn't flying on JetBlue, but on Southwest, so the planes were running.
At the airport, I was giving all kinds of instructions and nervously checking and re-checking all the flight guidelines for minors travelling alone. LOS was at the airport in New England before TigerGrrl left the ground in DC, so I new all would be well, but nonetheless, it was nervewracking.
At which point, TigerGrrl informed me that "You don't have to be nervous Mama: I know what I'm doing." As she marched up the walkway to the plane, past the point where I could no longer escort her, she waved and then skipped/scampered/hopped/jumped onto the plane.
I thought I was holding it together so well, smiling bravely as my eldest child cheerfully flew away to a big adventure without me, and then one of the women in the A line said: "Don't cry, Mom: she's going to have a great time!" I hadn't realized that my eyes were full of tears, and at this point I had to wipe my eyes. At which point, the whole collective flight (waiting to board: my daughter got escorted on the plane first) said (or intoned): "Awww." Did I ever feel like a goopy maternal fool.
The woman who had first spoken then said: "I'll sit next to her and chat with her." To which I replied: "If you can get a word in edgewise."
According to LOS, the flight attendant reported that TigerGrrl was quite well-behaved and the woman who had said she would sit next to TigerGrrl also sought LOS out and reported on the good manners and cheerful disposition of my daughter.
I had to call Saturday morning, mainly because DestructoGrrl kept asking for her big sister. Then Saturday night, I got the cheering report that TigerGrrl was good at skiing. Or, to quote her verbatim: "I'm really good at skiing. I just need to learn how to stop and turn." But other than those pesky turns and stops, she's good at it. Hee.
Tobogganing ("Kabagganing", in TigerGrrl dialect) was also a big hit, especially one run where the toboggan hit a bump and everyone was thrown in the air ("I made a big kaboom on the kabaggan.") and TigerGrrl bumped her tailbone.
More on the wonderful adventures of Tigergrrl later. I'm tired.
TigerGrrl took her first plane trip alone Friday (yes, she spent most of the summer of 2005 in another country, but she didn't travel to and from there alone) and returns to day. She went to LOS to learn to ski. They hadn't had any snow, but last week did, so that worked out well. Fortunately, she wasn't flying on JetBlue, but on Southwest, so the planes were running.
At the airport, I was giving all kinds of instructions and nervously checking and re-checking all the flight guidelines for minors travelling alone. LOS was at the airport in New England before TigerGrrl left the ground in DC, so I new all would be well, but nonetheless, it was nervewracking.
At which point, TigerGrrl informed me that "You don't have to be nervous Mama: I know what I'm doing." As she marched up the walkway to the plane, past the point where I could no longer escort her, she waved and then skipped/scampered/hopped/jumped onto the plane.
I thought I was holding it together so well, smiling bravely as my eldest child cheerfully flew away to a big adventure without me, and then one of the women in the A line said: "Don't cry, Mom: she's going to have a great time!" I hadn't realized that my eyes were full of tears, and at this point I had to wipe my eyes. At which point, the whole collective flight (waiting to board: my daughter got escorted on the plane first) said (or intoned): "Awww." Did I ever feel like a goopy maternal fool.
The woman who had first spoken then said: "I'll sit next to her and chat with her." To which I replied: "If you can get a word in edgewise."
According to LOS, the flight attendant reported that TigerGrrl was quite well-behaved and the woman who had said she would sit next to TigerGrrl also sought LOS out and reported on the good manners and cheerful disposition of my daughter.
I had to call Saturday morning, mainly because DestructoGrrl kept asking for her big sister. Then Saturday night, I got the cheering report that TigerGrrl was good at skiing. Or, to quote her verbatim: "I'm really good at skiing. I just need to learn how to stop and turn." But other than those pesky turns and stops, she's good at it. Hee.
Tobogganing ("Kabagganing", in TigerGrrl dialect) was also a big hit, especially one run where the toboggan hit a bump and everyone was thrown in the air ("I made a big kaboom on the kabaggan.") and TigerGrrl bumped her tailbone.
More on the wonderful adventures of Tigergrrl later. I'm tired.
February 16, 2007
Beowulf, Live, As Performed By Benjamin Bagby
Yes, Innana took me to see Benjamin Bagby read from Beowulf (and accompanying himself on a harp) at the Library of Congress. The performance was in Old English (or at least a representation of Old English) with surtitles. It was great. Check him out. Heck, order the DVD. Next stop for Bagby is Hobart, so you Australians, books that ticket to Tasmania and check him out. I can't begin to describe the performance, but trust me, it was great.
February 15, 2007
Dedicated to the Ones I Love
After the Down with Love posts, I feel I need to write about what I consider to be real love. I'm sitting here mending some of TigerGrrl's blue jeans. She always manages to destroy the right knee. It simply disappears. So I make nice patches from clothes that I've cut into scrap pieces when they fell apart, and I stitch those patches on the right knee of her jeans. After attaching the patch, I make a nice blanket stitch on the edge, which is pretty. She likes the extra "fancy" stitch. I'm knitting her teddy a sweater, but that has to wait until after I finish Innana's lace shell.
This morning, TigerGrrl and I sat on the couch and read from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. We read it before as Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, but we found the British edition at a used book store and nabbed it.
I do love doing nice things with and for those whom I love. Innana has lined up a month o' culture for me. No, we're not bathing in yoghourt. We're going to a reading of Beowulf, going to Richard III, and another play. Thank god for the theater connections. And for Innana's decent tax return.
Happy Valentine's Day an hour and a half late. Good night.
This morning, TigerGrrl and I sat on the couch and read from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. We read it before as Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, but we found the British edition at a used book store and nabbed it.
I do love doing nice things with and for those whom I love. Innana has lined up a month o' culture for me. No, we're not bathing in yoghourt. We're going to a reading of Beowulf, going to Richard III, and another play. Thank god for the theater connections. And for Innana's decent tax return.
Happy Valentine's Day an hour and a half late. Good night.
February 14, 2007
Decapitation of St. Valentine, Part Deux
Of course, my prior post was garbled and unclear and, let's not forget, full of typos. So sorry. I've said it before and I'll say it again: this is a mental health exercise, and if it makes my mind and emotions clear up, I'll write it and I'll post it.
I do renounce the pursuit of romance, at least as romance is defined in our society. I've seen a number of articles about "how to survive [???] Valentine's Day if you are single." I didn't know that this day was fatal to some of those who aren't tied to another person, whether that other person is good or bad. These articles annoyed me. There were also a lot of articles about "how to not give a cliched gift". Let me just quote Judith Martin, aka Miss Manners, and say this: you give a good gift by knowing the person you are giving the gift too. As an example: Innana picked me up a pair of size 12 suede shoes at the Clock Tower Thrift Shop. Total cost: possibly $3.50, maybe $5 if they were really pricey. I'm not buying shoes now, because I'm trying to pay bills, send my girls to college, and generally live within my means. While my previous Imelda-incarnation means that I still have plenty of shoes in the closet, they are getting a bit worn and over-repaired. Now I have new shoes. Even if the shoes hadn't fit (they did fit) and didn't look good (they did look good), my heart would have melted into a puddle o' mush by such a kind gesture. But back to people other than MVBFITWWW.
In early courtship, the meanings people attach to romantic gestures are enormous and seem, at least to me, to be wildly misguided. Expensive dinner out? Not so much evidence of romance as of value attached for which a payoff may be expected, or possible, someone who isn't careful with money. Same with jewelry, flowers, blah, blah, blah. Nice to have, but not really indicative of the things one really needs to know about a person: financial habits, treatment of others, etc.
Romance, at least as publicized in our society, seems to be about flouting rules, showing you'd sacrifice everything for another, wild spending or rash behavior to make a point. None of these things hold any appeal to me. I don't want someone to shout his love from me from the rooftops. That would embarrass me. Also, it's meaningless. I don't care about flowers. Of course, chocolate is always a good idea, but that's not romance, that's just care and feeding of moi.
Also, the emphasis of words and sappy gestures (I think nothing says "love" like making sure the plumbing works well or that toes are warm in nice hand-knitted socks). Our worldview is so much based on what people say that people get away with doing inconsiderate, selfish, monstrous, or evil things because they'll say the right words (not just in romance, but in politics and work). Look at Joe Biden and the trouble he's in (most of the people attacking him have much less clean hands). Look at our President. Don't we all feel united and not divided? He told us he's a uniter and not a divider, so that settles it, doesn't it?
I had a great day today, and part of that was not worrying about how some man might like me or fit into my life. Assumption at present: whoever he is, he probably doesn't fit into my life, and anything in that general area is going to be an after-thought. That doesn't mean I won't have after-thoughts and actions based on those thoughts, but it isn't going to be central in my life.
The stereotypical woman is relationship-based, and I hate to admit it, but I am that stereotypical woman. I seek connection with others. But I am not going to define myself by my relationship to some hypothetical man or by any actual man who enters my life. My primary relationships of daughter, sister, friend, and mother as well as my secondary relationships of employee, boss, volunteer, and neighbor are quite enough to keep my life full and rich.
Again, I'm not dismissing love, sex, or desire. I am dismissing the idea that I am waiting to be pursued by someone who will want to change his life for me or want me to change my life for him. Any relationship outside of a fling is going to be pragmatic and practical and based on mutual benefit, not palpitations.
So it's not down with love, but down with infatuation and wanting to be in love. That's all.
I do renounce the pursuit of romance, at least as romance is defined in our society. I've seen a number of articles about "how to survive [???] Valentine's Day if you are single." I didn't know that this day was fatal to some of those who aren't tied to another person, whether that other person is good or bad. These articles annoyed me. There were also a lot of articles about "how to not give a cliched gift". Let me just quote Judith Martin, aka Miss Manners, and say this: you give a good gift by knowing the person you are giving the gift too. As an example: Innana picked me up a pair of size 12 suede shoes at the Clock Tower Thrift Shop. Total cost: possibly $3.50, maybe $5 if they were really pricey. I'm not buying shoes now, because I'm trying to pay bills, send my girls to college, and generally live within my means. While my previous Imelda-incarnation means that I still have plenty of shoes in the closet, they are getting a bit worn and over-repaired. Now I have new shoes. Even if the shoes hadn't fit (they did fit) and didn't look good (they did look good), my heart would have melted into a puddle o' mush by such a kind gesture. But back to people other than MVBFITWWW.
In early courtship, the meanings people attach to romantic gestures are enormous and seem, at least to me, to be wildly misguided. Expensive dinner out? Not so much evidence of romance as of value attached for which a payoff may be expected, or possible, someone who isn't careful with money. Same with jewelry, flowers, blah, blah, blah. Nice to have, but not really indicative of the things one really needs to know about a person: financial habits, treatment of others, etc.
Romance, at least as publicized in our society, seems to be about flouting rules, showing you'd sacrifice everything for another, wild spending or rash behavior to make a point. None of these things hold any appeal to me. I don't want someone to shout his love from me from the rooftops. That would embarrass me. Also, it's meaningless. I don't care about flowers. Of course, chocolate is always a good idea, but that's not romance, that's just care and feeding of moi.
Also, the emphasis of words and sappy gestures (I think nothing says "love" like making sure the plumbing works well or that toes are warm in nice hand-knitted socks). Our worldview is so much based on what people say that people get away with doing inconsiderate, selfish, monstrous, or evil things because they'll say the right words (not just in romance, but in politics and work). Look at Joe Biden and the trouble he's in (most of the people attacking him have much less clean hands). Look at our President. Don't we all feel united and not divided? He told us he's a uniter and not a divider, so that settles it, doesn't it?
I had a great day today, and part of that was not worrying about how some man might like me or fit into my life. Assumption at present: whoever he is, he probably doesn't fit into my life, and anything in that general area is going to be an after-thought. That doesn't mean I won't have after-thoughts and actions based on those thoughts, but it isn't going to be central in my life.
The stereotypical woman is relationship-based, and I hate to admit it, but I am that stereotypical woman. I seek connection with others. But I am not going to define myself by my relationship to some hypothetical man or by any actual man who enters my life. My primary relationships of daughter, sister, friend, and mother as well as my secondary relationships of employee, boss, volunteer, and neighbor are quite enough to keep my life full and rich.
Again, I'm not dismissing love, sex, or desire. I am dismissing the idea that I am waiting to be pursued by someone who will want to change his life for me or want me to change my life for him. Any relationship outside of a fling is going to be pragmatic and practical and based on mutual benefit, not palpitations.
So it's not down with love, but down with infatuation and wanting to be in love. That's all.
February 12, 2007
In Honor of St. Valentine's Decapitation
I do not understand how the anniversary of St. Valentine getting beheaded transformed into the mushy-sappy-annoying holiday that was designed to really, really irk this bitter divorced woman. I'm not depressed about the holiday. It doesn't bother me to be single at this time of year. Actually it is a lot better to be single than to be married to a narcissistic psychotic who spends money like water and thinks my feelings reflect his feelings (still does, and the divorce has been final for over two months now). Also, if I were dating, which I'm not ready to do yet (yes, I know, I did in the last year of my marriage, but that wasn't real: it wasn't fictional, although some stories were fictionalized, but it wasn't a search for a real substantive relationship), I could have bumped into someone even worse than the Insane Ex. (example). Proof again that it takes a heck of a man to be better than none. The prior to examples are of course, much, much worse than none.
So, love, and the pursuit thereof, which is what makes the world go around, seems to be the raison d'etre for celebrating the severing of Valentine's head and torso.
I do believe in love. Real love. The true love one feels for one's children of for one's best friend of over twenty years (yes, Innana, that means you). However, I firmly renounce romantic love. I don't renounce romance, sex, or desire. But I do renounce the idea of romantic love. It's balderdash.
Just writing about romantic love, even that briefly, has made me so bored and sleepy that I am now going to be asleep. I'll continue this tomorrow (really, later today), but even the thought ofromantic love is a soporific.
So, love, and the pursuit thereof, which is what makes the world go around, seems to be the raison d'etre for celebrating the severing of Valentine's head and torso.
I do believe in love. Real love. The true love one feels for one's children of for one's best friend of over twenty years (yes, Innana, that means you). However, I firmly renounce romantic love. I don't renounce romance, sex, or desire. But I do renounce the idea of romantic love. It's balderdash.
Just writing about romantic love, even that briefly, has made me so bored and sleepy that I am now going to be asleep. I'll continue this tomorrow (really, later today), but even the thought ofromantic love is a soporific.
February 10, 2007
Feed A Depression, Starve A Narcissist
And by narcissist, I think you know to whom I am referring. Ugh. That left a bad taste in my mouth. But he's been doing that to the women of New York for years, or so I am led to understand.
On a sweeter tasting note, I think I have the depression under control, despite an ongoing fight with Insane Ex about my entitlement (really, he thinks it should go to him) to the tax deductions for the Foilkids. I provide the majority of the support, but that doesn't make sense to him (he gets child support from me: what more proof does he need?). I have the weekend to myself, and this week I had a comfort food-and-exercise regimen ongoing, which may have clinched things. Also, the hormonal horrors have moved on. Maybe they're attacking Anne Coulter right now (or they would be, if she weren't a female impersonator).
Exercise would be walking 1.25 miles to the Metro and back each day. Comfort food is (1) homemade chocolate sauce on ice cream, (2) homemade beef stew, (3) chocolate chips and peanut butter, (4) baked potato with cheese and broccoli, and (5) warm milk with honey right before bed. Also, Saintly Babysitter's fried chicken.
Just in case someone else out there is feeling depressed, here are a few homemade chocolate sauce recipes:
Recipe 1:
1 egg yolk
1 c. whole milk (or cream)
3 oz. unsweetened chocolate
1/2 to 1 c. sugar (or brown sugar)
If available, 1 or 2 tablespoons of dark rum or bourbon, depending
Start melting the chocolate in a double boiler, over hot, but not boiling water. Once the chocolate is melted turn the heat off and let the chocolate cool down a little, but remain liquid. In a separate bowl, beat the egg yolk and add a little milk and sugar at a time. Pour the milk/egg/sugar mixture into the double boiler and stir until well mixed. Turn the heat back on, very low. Stir continuously until sauce thickens to the desired consistency*. Add the rum or whiskey and continue to stir. Remove from heat and poor over ice cream.
Recipe 2 (Easier, not as smooth and rich)
2 oz. unsweetened chocolate
2/3 c. sugar (I use brown sugar, but white sugar is fine)
1/3 to 2/3 c. coffee
1 Tbsp. butter
Heat and stir chocolate, sugar and coffee until gently bubbling. After sauce has thickened, remove from heat and add butter. Whisk until smooth. Pour over ice cream.
*You're the cook. You should know how thick you want the sauce to be.
On a sweeter tasting note, I think I have the depression under control, despite an ongoing fight with Insane Ex about my entitlement (really, he thinks it should go to him) to the tax deductions for the Foilkids. I provide the majority of the support, but that doesn't make sense to him (he gets child support from me: what more proof does he need?). I have the weekend to myself, and this week I had a comfort food-and-exercise regimen ongoing, which may have clinched things. Also, the hormonal horrors have moved on. Maybe they're attacking Anne Coulter right now (or they would be, if she weren't a female impersonator).
Exercise would be walking 1.25 miles to the Metro and back each day. Comfort food is (1) homemade chocolate sauce on ice cream, (2) homemade beef stew, (3) chocolate chips and peanut butter, (4) baked potato with cheese and broccoli, and (5) warm milk with honey right before bed. Also, Saintly Babysitter's fried chicken.
Just in case someone else out there is feeling depressed, here are a few homemade chocolate sauce recipes:
Recipe 1:
1 egg yolk
1 c. whole milk (or cream)
3 oz. unsweetened chocolate
1/2 to 1 c. sugar (or brown sugar)
If available, 1 or 2 tablespoons of dark rum or bourbon, depending
Start melting the chocolate in a double boiler, over hot, but not boiling water. Once the chocolate is melted turn the heat off and let the chocolate cool down a little, but remain liquid. In a separate bowl, beat the egg yolk and add a little milk and sugar at a time. Pour the milk/egg/sugar mixture into the double boiler and stir until well mixed. Turn the heat back on, very low. Stir continuously until sauce thickens to the desired consistency*. Add the rum or whiskey and continue to stir. Remove from heat and poor over ice cream.
Recipe 2 (Easier, not as smooth and rich)
2 oz. unsweetened chocolate
2/3 c. sugar (I use brown sugar, but white sugar is fine)
1/3 to 2/3 c. coffee
1 Tbsp. butter
Heat and stir chocolate, sugar and coffee until gently bubbling. After sauce has thickened, remove from heat and add butter. Whisk until smooth. Pour over ice cream.
*You're the cook. You should know how thick you want the sauce to be.
February 9, 2007
He Can't Believe He's Still Single, But Can You?
I'll probably delete this post, as I'm going to be more than a tad cruel (I'll try to resist the temptation, but I'll fail). But I realized there's a reason I'm not trying to date right now. I'm not removed enough from the total destruction of my life (status quo ante bellum, anyway) that resulted from trying (and succeeding) in getting free of the former Mr. Foilwoman. If I ran across someone like this, I'd end up in jail. And he'd be dead, if he were lucky. If he weren't lucky, he'd be drinking meals through a straw and having a lot of surgery to remove all the rusty forks from various parts of his none-too-impressive anatomy.
Yes, I know. It's unfair of me, and probably hypocritical, to find this charming gentleman to be narcissitic and deeply creepy. But the thing that gets me is the sense of entitlement. He just expected that when he was ready, a woman who suited him would fall into his lap. And she hasn't. And he's so sad.
Poor thing. Maybe someone should tell why he's not going to be getting married anytime soon? I suppose everyone has, since the charming Rebecca Traister wrote about him and his blog in Salon yesterday.
My diagnosis: cause of singleness is not the fact that he's a narcissistic, navel-gazing, self-centered dork. There are plenty of people meeting those qualifications who are married. No. He's single because life is hard enough for modern women. And cats are so affectionate and don't ask for compliments (we give them to them anyway).
When I can read that man's blog and snicker rather than fume, I'll be ready to be out there dating again. In the meantime, he should be grateful, really, really grateful, that he's a New Yorker and not a denizen of the national Capital Area.
Yes, I know. It's unfair of me, and probably hypocritical, to find this charming gentleman to be narcissitic and deeply creepy. But the thing that gets me is the sense of entitlement. He just expected that when he was ready, a woman who suited him would fall into his lap. And she hasn't. And he's so sad.
Poor thing. Maybe someone should tell why he's not going to be getting married anytime soon? I suppose everyone has, since the charming Rebecca Traister wrote about him and his blog in Salon yesterday.
My diagnosis: cause of singleness is not the fact that he's a narcissistic, navel-gazing, self-centered dork. There are plenty of people meeting those qualifications who are married. No. He's single because life is hard enough for modern women. And cats are so affectionate and don't ask for compliments (we give them to them anyway).
When I can read that man's blog and snicker rather than fume, I'll be ready to be out there dating again. In the meantime, he should be grateful, really, really grateful, that he's a New Yorker and not a denizen of the national Capital Area.
February 8, 2007
Grumpy and Sneezy (Not Doc or Sleepy or Happy or Bashful or any of the Others)
Can you name the rest of the dwarves without looking them up? I still feel (emotionally and physically) like crap on toast. However, I did call my landlord and demand the carpet cleaning promised with re-signing the lease at the new horrible and higher ($1880/month) rate. So evidence of DestructoGirl's spilling the entire bottle of shampoo in the carpet (as well as DestructoGirl spilling the laundry soap on the carpet, the orange juice on the carpet, the red wine on the carpet, the yoghourt on the carpet, and many others as well as the truly magnificent just taking off her diaper ("couche!") and peeing on the carpet) will soon be removed. Relatively clean carpeting. It's a concept. Due to arrive next Wednesday, if the cleaners arrive as scheduled. Yippee.
Off to work.
Off to work.
February 7, 2007
Women of America (Actually, Just Gayle Haggard), Did You Just Get Lucky Or What?
Stealing directly from Jewish Atheist (Peace be upon him), I am thrilled to the cockles of my soon-to-be actively practicing heterosexual heart (or ovaries or whatever) to learn that Ted Haggard has been declared "completely heterosexual".
Gayle Haggard has my sympathies, but the guys who are foisting this man off as fit to make love with any woman (wife or otherwise) are evil imps of Satan. No, I don't think bisexuality is bad. I think a woman would do much better to have a physical relationship with a bisexual man who knows and understands his own sexuality (and is willing to understand hers) than with a closeted homosexual whose chance of honestly coming to grips with his own desires (much less his partner's, who should -- Are you listening, conservative anti-sex misogynistic wingnuts? -- have some standing in the whole process) just got flushed down the big "God Doesn't Like It When People Have Orgasms in Any But One Or Two Ways" crapper.
Have any of these people* ever had sex that was fun or exciting? The thing that gets me the most about this whole thing ***alert alert bitter divorced depressed feminist woman rant alert alert***AVERT EYES NOW*** is the complete disregard for sex to be a mutual thing. To these people**, the most important thing about sex be that it involve a penis and a vagina and that the vagina not be using any disapproved birth control methods and that the penis and vagina belong to people who are married to each other. Even if the person to whom the penis is attached really doesn't want to have anything to do with the vagina, that's irrelevant. The clitoris (Really, guys, that's where the action is: always has been, and always will be. If you want repeat opportunities, I'd advise getting familiar with that little part of the anatomy and forget everything you ever learned or were lied to about a about penis dimensions and work on manual and oral dexterity.) doesn't even enter into the debate.
Now, maybe Ted Haggard is now a heterosexual, but he wasn't always, and I don't think he is now. I'm betting he's pretty solidly gay, but living on the Nile swimming amongst the crocodiles. Maybe, just maybe, he's really bisexual, and his wife (Gayle Haggard, standing by him, loyally) and he had a mutually satisfactory sex life. But I'd bet a lot that her satisfaction in her marriage, to the extent it existed, was not highly dependent on the bedroom. I'm betting whatever dissatisfaction she (and he) might have felt in that area won't be approving anytime soon.
I'm trying to imagine a deity who cares as much about genitalia as the Judeo-Christian-Muslim deity seems to. Let's go be a Biblical fly on the wall.
Let's try to imagine the first rabbi who came up with idea that it would be a good idea to take and infact and cut off the penis's foreskin. From an infant. How do you convince someone to do that to a child for the first time? The view of sin in human life as revolving around the vagina and the penis (or illicit use of any other body parts or orifices) may take into account human feelings of jealously, but really seems to lack proportion when looking at the big sins out there (murder, corrupction, etc.). Too tired to write more: I had a brilliant thought, but I've lost my steam. Back to this later.
*The ministers who claim they've cured Reverend TeddyBoy.
**Using the term loosely.
Gayle Haggard has my sympathies, but the guys who are foisting this man off as fit to make love with any woman (wife or otherwise) are evil imps of Satan. No, I don't think bisexuality is bad. I think a woman would do much better to have a physical relationship with a bisexual man who knows and understands his own sexuality (and is willing to understand hers) than with a closeted homosexual whose chance of honestly coming to grips with his own desires (much less his partner's, who should -- Are you listening, conservative anti-sex misogynistic wingnuts? -- have some standing in the whole process) just got flushed down the big "God Doesn't Like It When People Have Orgasms in Any But One Or Two Ways" crapper.
Have any of these people* ever had sex that was fun or exciting? The thing that gets me the most about this whole thing ***alert alert bitter divorced depressed feminist woman rant alert alert***AVERT EYES NOW*** is the complete disregard for sex to be a mutual thing. To these people**, the most important thing about sex be that it involve a penis and a vagina and that the vagina not be using any disapproved birth control methods and that the penis and vagina belong to people who are married to each other. Even if the person to whom the penis is attached really doesn't want to have anything to do with the vagina, that's irrelevant. The clitoris (Really, guys, that's where the action is: always has been, and always will be. If you want repeat opportunities, I'd advise getting familiar with that little part of the anatomy and forget everything you ever learned or were lied to about a about penis dimensions and work on manual and oral dexterity.) doesn't even enter into the debate.
Now, maybe Ted Haggard is now a heterosexual, but he wasn't always, and I don't think he is now. I'm betting he's pretty solidly gay, but living on the Nile swimming amongst the crocodiles. Maybe, just maybe, he's really bisexual, and his wife (Gayle Haggard, standing by him, loyally) and he had a mutually satisfactory sex life. But I'd bet a lot that her satisfaction in her marriage, to the extent it existed, was not highly dependent on the bedroom. I'm betting whatever dissatisfaction she (and he) might have felt in that area won't be approving anytime soon.
I'm trying to imagine a deity who cares as much about genitalia as the Judeo-Christian-Muslim deity seems to. Let's go be a Biblical fly on the wall.
Let's try to imagine the first rabbi who came up with idea that it would be a good idea to take and infact and cut off the penis's foreskin. From an infant. How do you convince someone to do that to a child for the first time? The view of sin in human life as revolving around the vagina and the penis (or illicit use of any other body parts or orifices) may take into account human feelings of jealously, but really seems to lack proportion when looking at the big sins out there (murder, corrupction, etc.). Too tired to write more: I had a brilliant thought, but I've lost my steam. Back to this later.
*The ministers who claim they've cured Reverend TeddyBoy.
**Using the term loosely.
February 6, 2007
Which Romantic Poet Am I?
I love these quiz thingys. I was very afraid, however, that on taking this quiz I would discover that I was Wordsworth, who has never ranked very high in my esteem, and whose reputation, I fear cannot withstand replacing the word "daffodil" in his Daffodil poem with the word "imbecile." Try it. You'll see. But no! I'm not Byron either, thank you very much. Lady Caroline Lamb might have though him mad, bad and dangerous to know, but aside for his lovely poem "We'll Go No More A-Roving", I've never had much use for him.
No.
Who is Your Romantic Poet?
created with QuizFarm.com
I'm Samuel Coleridge. Now, I'm no opium addict, but his Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Xanadu are among the few works by Romantic poets that I can abide. Although I don't really consider Coleridge a Romantic. I think of him as a late-eighteenth century/early nineteenth century Hunter Thompson crossed with someone who can actually write. I wouldn't have minded being Percy Bysshe Shelley (although I think Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley really takes the cake, but she was a novelist, not a poet).
No.
 |
Who is Your Romantic Poet?
created with QuizFarm.com
I'm Samuel Coleridge. Now, I'm no opium addict, but his Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Xanadu are among the few works by Romantic poets that I can abide. Although I don't really consider Coleridge a Romantic. I think of him as a late-eighteenth century/early nineteenth century Hunter Thompson crossed with someone who can actually write. I wouldn't have minded being Percy Bysshe Shelley (although I think Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley really takes the cake, but she was a novelist, not a poet).
February 4, 2007
Exactly How Bad Do Things Have To Get Before They Can't Get Any Worse? Or, Crappity Crappity Crap Crap Crap*
Reader warning alert. Whining, whinging, bellyaching, moaning, groaning, grumping, and general misanthropy to be found here. For uplifting stuff, read just about anything other than this, with the exception of Bleak House, The Diary of Anne Frank, The Bell Jar, or any history of any period of the twentieth century.+ Or anything written by an existentialist, any teenager ever, oh, I'll just stop now. Everyone's depressing. Everything's depressing. But I'm still going to make my stab at it. Forewarned is forearmed. Don't say I didn't warn you.
First of all, I'm sick. I have an obnoxious head cold. Nothing serious, just enough blowing of the nose that my nose hurts. Second of all, DestructoGirl has a bit of a bug. Nothing serious again, but bad enough that she went through about four changes of clothes today and the toilet training went out the window. I also (although I'm forty-five and really should be seeing the waning of fertility someday soon, but OH NO) have cramps and all the other good stuff.
Innana came by to visit and take us to lunch today++ and we got into the GrammyMobile (with less than 25,000 miles on it, despite it's 11 years of age) but discovered, sadly, that we weren't going anywhere in that vehicle. Why? No, the battery wasn't dead, the brakes work, the ignition worked, everything worked except . . . the goddamn driver's side door wouldn't shut. Well, the hinges worked fine. Just the latch on the door was jammed so that the door wouldn't shut completely. You can't really drive a car with a door prone to swinging open. Well, not in an urban area, anyway.
You really shouldn't leave a car unlocked, but we futzed with the GrammyMobile for a while. The condition spread to the front passenger side door and then the rear driver side door. Great.
We moved the baby seat and the booster seat to the Innanamobile and drove off to the Silver Diner. I so had a completely unhealthful (but deeply needed) chicken fried steak. Nothing like lard or its equivalent when totally and really stressed out. The meal was great, and DestructoGirl didn't spill her drink all over everything until we were headed out, anyway.
Innana got some WD40 at the drugstore and we headed back to the FoilFlat. The car remained unclosed. I got more than a tad stressed out. How, for example, do you get a car like this to service? You can't drive the darn thing, but how can it be towed? The doors could swing open at any time. And who the fuck is going to pay for the repair? Innana called Ex-Marine Fred, and he walked us through all kinds of good stuff*+ to no avail.
Then Innana asked about AAA*++ and whether my car insurance covered roadside assistance (no -- but Innana figured that out by looking at my insurance card -- I didn't know that and I should have). I knew I had renewed my AAA membership, but really couldn't remember getting the membership card. As I was seriously not handling things well by then, Innana went through my wallet and found the membership card (which is good through 2008) and called AAA and explained they problem.
They send a locksmith. Rather, they tried to send a locksmith. He called, and I did a bunch of different things on his advice, but none of them worked. Meanwhile, DestructoGirl had conked out in the ride home from the diner and was "napping". Consider that foreshadowing. There was silence from the DestructoGirl, which should have been warning enough.
After being on the phone with the locksmith for half an hour, he still hadn't gotten in his truck and headed over to sort out the Grammymobile and he still kept asking me questions. I guess my voice rose a tad as I was saying: "I'm here with a two-year old and a seven-year old. I need to cook them dinner,*+++ get them bathed, go over homework, and get them to bed. I think I've told you about this car's entire life history. I need the doors to shut, not talk more about why they don't. If I could figure this out, I would have done so by now."
Maybe my voice was less than mellifluous? Because Innana came and took the phone from me (I was outdoors, she had been inside with the girls) and somehow got the locksmith to agree to come. I asked her what she had said, and she told me she told him that he should come look at the car now. Who knew? I thought that was a given, but apparently roadside assistance is something which you need to request several times (so that they're sure you want it and need it).
Of course, it took him another two hours to arrive from twenty minutes away. During which time, I had commented to Innana about how under the weather DestructoGirl must be since we weren't hearing a peep out of her. At which point, of course, a cheerful (too cheerful) "Mama!" is heard. I head into the bedroom to be confronted by . . .
Every thing that could possibly be gotten out of anything else on the floor. CDs out of cases. Hair bands strewn across the floor. Saintly Babysitter's (fortunately none-too-expensive) shampoo, hair conditioner, and body cream all over the carpet. All over the carpet. A whole bottle of shampoo.
Do you know how much scrubbing it takes to get a bottle of shampoo out of wall-to-wall carpeting? A lot. Of course, it was only after I'd scrubbed the portion of the carpet and cleaned it and thought "well, at least that's over" that I looked at the top bunk of the bunk bed (TigerGrrl's bed) and realized that the floor wasn't the only part of the room that had had gunk spread all over it. There was an open jar of vaseline on TigerGrrl's bed, and it's contents covered the walls, the sheets, the blankets, but (small miracle) not Mr. Scratchy, TigerGrrl's beloved round bellied stuffed tiger. Four loads of laundry later (puffy blankets take up a lot of space in a washing machine), TigerGrrl is asleep in her own bed.
Good thing DestructoGirl read the book about being cute (she actually wrote it). The locksmith arrived and was able to fix the car (with Innana, not me, supervising). TigerGrrl and I made a homemade pizza, and I am counting my blessings, not the least of which is that the locksmith's service was covered by the AAA membership. Other blessings: TigerGrrl was great today, even though she and I had a horrible fight yesterday in which I had to be the Ultra-Stern-Mother-Of-Doom, but which was okay in the end. Also, Innana brought me some nice grey suede shoes from a Clock Tower thrift shop. They fit. I have new (to me, but really, these shoes have never been worn) shoes.
Yesterday, TigerGrrl saw a teenage boy (I saw it too, and so did DestructoGirl, but she had not comprehension beyond "Shiny!" or something like that) get arrested at Target. We couldn't avoid seeing it, as the security guard was putting the handcuffs on and blocking the exit doors (the automatic doors -- one could still use the manual doors if one wasn't pushing a cart filled with groceries and children, but since I was, we were a captive audience). The kid's mother watched with a blank expression as though she hadn't been accompanying her child. I don't know what the appropriate reaction is to seeing one's child get arrested, but I don't want t0 see disinterest. Anger, defensiveness (of the child), outrage (at the kid, at the security guard), shock, or denial would all feel appropriate. Just watching and then afterwards thanking the guard (I'd like to know the history of that) just seems creepy. No father present to rag on. Maybe that's the story. Who knows.
Security guards of the world: Just get the shoplifter. Don't physically restrain the other customers, particularly the mothers with kids who really need to get home so their children can trash their apartments.
*Trust me, I toned this down. It was Fuckity Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck, but I felt bad for all the poor schmoos who google the word "fuck" looking for porn**
**Trust me, if you can't find porn on the Internet without typing the word fuck, you probably aren't smart enough to masturbate and definitely aren't smart enough to breed. Also, who are all the people (seven in the last one hundred viewers, according to Stat Counter) who are coming here using the search term "Greenland"? Especially the Iranian searcher***? I worry about you and your ability to research. Just saying.
***Most searchers from theocracies or would be theocracies (Iran, Saudi Arabia, the Vatican, Utah) are searching for porn (Coincidence? I think not.), so I am very impressed to get a repeat visitor from an Islamic Republic who is searching for something vaguely Scandinavian that doesn't involve sex tips, but really, just bookmark me buddy. Don't do the Greenland search to bring up my blog. It's just vaguely offputting in some weird way. And also, I worry about the censors or whatever stoning you or something when really you were just trying to research glaciar diminution or something.
+Or any century really, if written accurately and honestly. Really. They all died, okay? Sorry to spoil the ending, but that's the ending for me and you as well. Oh, you though you rode off into the sunset on the noble steed and lived happily ever after? What a rube.
++People can worship any deity they like, but I'll believe in my own personal fertility goddesses+++ who also does personal interventions and waits with you while waiting for the police to serve the temporary restraining order. That's a friend and a deity one can believe in, and she proved it again today.
+++Innana took her blogging identity (back when she had a blog) from a Mesopotamian fertility goddess, which is true. She babysat for TigerGrrl on Valentine's Day in 2004, which relaxed evening led to the eventual appearance on this planet of the DestructoGirl. Truly. It's all her fault. Although she always says to me, and said several times this weekend: "I used the birth control. Don't look at me."
*+Who knew there were so many things that could go wrong with doors? If only one of the scenarios concocted by Ex-Marine Fred were the scenario in which we found ourselves. But no.
*++American Automobile Association, for the reader in Iran who is trying to find Greenland. They could send you a map.
*+++The car problem started at about 12:30 p.m. We stopped trying to fix things ourselves and have Ex-Marine Fred walk us through fixing it ourselves around 3 p.m. (after lunch at the diner). The initial phone call to AAA was after 3 but before 4 p.m. I talked to the locksmith from 4:20 until 4:50 or so, and which point, I wanted him to show up and fix the darned thing not blather on about what might possibly cause the problem long distance. So it was nearly 5 p.m. at that point.
First of all, I'm sick. I have an obnoxious head cold. Nothing serious, just enough blowing of the nose that my nose hurts. Second of all, DestructoGirl has a bit of a bug. Nothing serious again, but bad enough that she went through about four changes of clothes today and the toilet training went out the window. I also (although I'm forty-five and really should be seeing the waning of fertility someday soon, but OH NO) have cramps and all the other good stuff.
Innana came by to visit and take us to lunch today++ and we got into the GrammyMobile (with less than 25,000 miles on it, despite it's 11 years of age) but discovered, sadly, that we weren't going anywhere in that vehicle. Why? No, the battery wasn't dead, the brakes work, the ignition worked, everything worked except . . . the goddamn driver's side door wouldn't shut. Well, the hinges worked fine. Just the latch on the door was jammed so that the door wouldn't shut completely. You can't really drive a car with a door prone to swinging open. Well, not in an urban area, anyway.
You really shouldn't leave a car unlocked, but we futzed with the GrammyMobile for a while. The condition spread to the front passenger side door and then the rear driver side door. Great.
We moved the baby seat and the booster seat to the Innanamobile and drove off to the Silver Diner. I so had a completely unhealthful (but deeply needed) chicken fried steak. Nothing like lard or its equivalent when totally and really stressed out. The meal was great, and DestructoGirl didn't spill her drink all over everything until we were headed out, anyway.
Innana got some WD40 at the drugstore and we headed back to the FoilFlat. The car remained unclosed. I got more than a tad stressed out. How, for example, do you get a car like this to service? You can't drive the darn thing, but how can it be towed? The doors could swing open at any time. And who the fuck is going to pay for the repair? Innana called Ex-Marine Fred, and he walked us through all kinds of good stuff*+ to no avail.
Then Innana asked about AAA*++ and whether my car insurance covered roadside assistance (no -- but Innana figured that out by looking at my insurance card -- I didn't know that and I should have). I knew I had renewed my AAA membership, but really couldn't remember getting the membership card. As I was seriously not handling things well by then, Innana went through my wallet and found the membership card (which is good through 2008) and called AAA and explained they problem.
They send a locksmith. Rather, they tried to send a locksmith. He called, and I did a bunch of different things on his advice, but none of them worked. Meanwhile, DestructoGirl had conked out in the ride home from the diner and was "napping". Consider that foreshadowing. There was silence from the DestructoGirl, which should have been warning enough.
After being on the phone with the locksmith for half an hour, he still hadn't gotten in his truck and headed over to sort out the Grammymobile and he still kept asking me questions. I guess my voice rose a tad as I was saying: "I'm here with a two-year old and a seven-year old. I need to cook them dinner,*+++ get them bathed, go over homework, and get them to bed. I think I've told you about this car's entire life history. I need the doors to shut, not talk more about why they don't. If I could figure this out, I would have done so by now."
Maybe my voice was less than mellifluous? Because Innana came and took the phone from me (I was outdoors, she had been inside with the girls) and somehow got the locksmith to agree to come. I asked her what she had said, and she told me she told him that he should come look at the car now. Who knew? I thought that was a given, but apparently roadside assistance is something which you need to request several times (so that they're sure you want it and need it).
Of course, it took him another two hours to arrive from twenty minutes away. During which time, I had commented to Innana about how under the weather DestructoGirl must be since we weren't hearing a peep out of her. At which point, of course, a cheerful (too cheerful) "Mama!" is heard. I head into the bedroom to be confronted by . . .
Every thing that could possibly be gotten out of anything else on the floor. CDs out of cases. Hair bands strewn across the floor. Saintly Babysitter's (fortunately none-too-expensive) shampoo, hair conditioner, and body cream all over the carpet. All over the carpet. A whole bottle of shampoo.
Do you know how much scrubbing it takes to get a bottle of shampoo out of wall-to-wall carpeting? A lot. Of course, it was only after I'd scrubbed the portion of the carpet and cleaned it and thought "well, at least that's over" that I looked at the top bunk of the bunk bed (TigerGrrl's bed) and realized that the floor wasn't the only part of the room that had had gunk spread all over it. There was an open jar of vaseline on TigerGrrl's bed, and it's contents covered the walls, the sheets, the blankets, but (small miracle) not Mr. Scratchy, TigerGrrl's beloved round bellied stuffed tiger. Four loads of laundry later (puffy blankets take up a lot of space in a washing machine), TigerGrrl is asleep in her own bed.
Good thing DestructoGirl read the book about being cute (she actually wrote it). The locksmith arrived and was able to fix the car (with Innana, not me, supervising). TigerGrrl and I made a homemade pizza, and I am counting my blessings, not the least of which is that the locksmith's service was covered by the AAA membership. Other blessings: TigerGrrl was great today, even though she and I had a horrible fight yesterday in which I had to be the Ultra-Stern-Mother-Of-Doom, but which was okay in the end. Also, Innana brought me some nice grey suede shoes from a Clock Tower thrift shop. They fit. I have new (to me, but really, these shoes have never been worn) shoes.
Yesterday, TigerGrrl saw a teenage boy (I saw it too, and so did DestructoGirl, but she had not comprehension beyond "Shiny!" or something like that) get arrested at Target. We couldn't avoid seeing it, as the security guard was putting the handcuffs on and blocking the exit doors (the automatic doors -- one could still use the manual doors if one wasn't pushing a cart filled with groceries and children, but since I was, we were a captive audience). The kid's mother watched with a blank expression as though she hadn't been accompanying her child. I don't know what the appropriate reaction is to seeing one's child get arrested, but I don't want t0 see disinterest. Anger, defensiveness (of the child), outrage (at the kid, at the security guard), shock, or denial would all feel appropriate. Just watching and then afterwards thanking the guard (I'd like to know the history of that) just seems creepy. No father present to rag on. Maybe that's the story. Who knows.
Security guards of the world: Just get the shoplifter. Don't physically restrain the other customers, particularly the mothers with kids who really need to get home so their children can trash their apartments.
*Trust me, I toned this down. It was Fuckity Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck, but I felt bad for all the poor schmoos who google the word "fuck" looking for porn**
**Trust me, if you can't find porn on the Internet without typing the word fuck, you probably aren't smart enough to masturbate and definitely aren't smart enough to breed. Also, who are all the people (seven in the last one hundred viewers, according to Stat Counter) who are coming here using the search term "Greenland"? Especially the Iranian searcher***? I worry about you and your ability to research. Just saying.
***Most searchers from theocracies or would be theocracies (Iran, Saudi Arabia, the Vatican, Utah) are searching for porn (Coincidence? I think not.), so I am very impressed to get a repeat visitor from an Islamic Republic who is searching for something vaguely Scandinavian that doesn't involve sex tips, but really, just bookmark me buddy. Don't do the Greenland search to bring up my blog. It's just vaguely offputting in some weird way. And also, I worry about the censors or whatever stoning you or something when really you were just trying to research glaciar diminution or something.
+Or any century really, if written accurately and honestly. Really. They all died, okay? Sorry to spoil the ending, but that's the ending for me and you as well. Oh, you though you rode off into the sunset on the noble steed and lived happily ever after? What a rube.
++People can worship any deity they like, but I'll believe in my own personal fertility goddesses+++ who also does personal interventions and waits with you while waiting for the police to serve the temporary restraining order. That's a friend and a deity one can believe in, and she proved it again today.
+++Innana took her blogging identity (back when she had a blog) from a Mesopotamian fertility goddess, which is true. She babysat for TigerGrrl on Valentine's Day in 2004, which relaxed evening led to the eventual appearance on this planet of the DestructoGirl. Truly. It's all her fault. Although she always says to me, and said several times this weekend: "I used the birth control. Don't look at me."
*+Who knew there were so many things that could go wrong with doors? If only one of the scenarios concocted by Ex-Marine Fred were the scenario in which we found ourselves. But no.
*++American Automobile Association, for the reader in Iran who is trying to find Greenland. They could send you a map.
*+++The car problem started at about 12:30 p.m. We stopped trying to fix things ourselves and have Ex-Marine Fred walk us through fixing it ourselves around 3 p.m. (after lunch at the diner). The initial phone call to AAA was after 3 but before 4 p.m. I talked to the locksmith from 4:20 until 4:50 or so, and which point, I wanted him to show up and fix the darned thing not blather on about what might possibly cause the problem long distance. So it was nearly 5 p.m. at that point.
February 2, 2007
A Notice From The Management Regarding Comments
I have been switched to "New Blogger" by Google (without me electing to do so -- grr) and I'm still working out the differences and bugs (of which there are plenty). While I will still allow anonymous comments, which is now essential since everyone with an "Old Blogger" account appears to be rendered anonymous, please do sign your post or log in as "other". I find it very difficult to respond openly and comfortably to an anonymous poster, and the illusion of a connection of sorts created by the establishment of an online identity (even if it's "Furball32") creates a sufficient comfort level for me.
To those of you Old Bloggers who have not yet been switched to New Blogger by the Imp* of Satan**, my apologies that you are now anonymous. Just log in as other and give your Old Blogger name and your blog's link, and I'll know who you are. Thank you.
*Google.
**Microsoft/Bill Gates, except when he's doing the charitable stuff, especially the vaccinations, at which point, way to go.
To those of you Old Bloggers who have not yet been switched to New Blogger by the Imp* of Satan**, my apologies that you are now anonymous. Just log in as other and give your Old Blogger name and your blog's link, and I'll know who you are. Thank you.
*Google.
**Microsoft/Bill Gates, except when he's doing the charitable stuff, especially the vaccinations, at which point, way to go.
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