One of the hardest things to grasp about feminism is the presumed pervasiveness and omnipresence of male privilege. I say "presumed" even though I really mean "actual." I think this is why many women who truly embrace feminism in all its glory, by which I mean women who embrace the concept that women are people and their sexual attractiveness to men is not an essential part of who they are (they may or may not want to be attractive to men and they may or may not be attractive to men: regardless, they're still women, people entitled to live their lives as they choose) discover that they are attracted to women sexually instead of men or, in some instances, despite being attracted to men more than women, encourage themselves to be attracted to women.
Why? I'll try to express it as MEBLBRF once expressed it to me with a phrase that simply creates an increasingly horrific feeling of dread and anger whenever I think of it: "Women have it harder because of their obligation to be beautiful." He didn't say "the expectation others place on them to be beautiful". He said "their obligation to be beautiful." This is something we owe the universe apparently.
No, we don't owe it to the universe. The universe doesn't count. We owe it to men, who deserve to be entertained and titillated by us. Turned on.
To which I will now say, politely, and in dulcet, feminine, non-threatening, and certainly not emasculating tones: "What the fuck?!"
Yes, I'm slow. This sentence was said to me in the fall of 2005 and it's now nearly two years later. I'm just preparing myself for the summer visit of Big Grampa, which is always a fun-filled time of white male privilege and exhortations to the women of the world (me) to remember the fragile egos of men.
Which gets me back to John Updike and Philip Roth. They are both good writers. They just don't have much to say that speaks to me. Actually, a lot of what they say speaks to me, but it's not stuff that's new or illuminating, unless the news that upper-middle class white men in the U.S. are astonishingly self-centered and narcissistic is a news flash to anyone.
The heroes of the novels of these writers with very different writing styles* have written exactly the same novels, just with different styles. To spare you the bother of reading them, I'll explain it to you.
Plot of all (okay, I've only read three, but I've read reviews of the others, and David Foster Wallace, a white male writer who doesn't just write about himself, bless his able-to-see-beyond-his-own limitations -- which not coincidentally at all do not appear to be limiting in the least -- heart, wrote a lovely and hilarious review of a recent Updike book which said everything I'm trying to say here, only a million times better) Updike and Roth books:
Man exists. Apparently no-one else really does, even though other characters are present, they don't actually ever get to be The Man, if you know what I mean. Man has wife or girlfriend and possibly children. Man ages or has aged. Man gets cranky that wife, girlfriend, or featureless children or all previously mentioned do not continually validate him, do what he wants, and have sex with him whenever he wants regardless of how little he acknowledges their existence. Man worries about viriility and aging. Man may have affair or just think about it. Various incidental and bad things happen to the wife/girlfriend/children, but Man's erection or lack thereof, job, friends, drinking, swimming, affair, or other activity keep Man from ever paying attention or noticing. Man wonders about meaning of life a lot, without ever thinking: "I have children (or a wife or whatever): could that possibly give my life meaning?"** Man natters on about this at length, giving no one else in the book (including this gentle reader and probably you too) any consideration, satisfaction, thought, or attention unless Man wants sex. If sex isn't provided, Man feels thwarted and bad, and like something he deserved has been taken from him.
Something bad happens to wife/girlfriend/child/children and Man either (1) isn't there, (2) does nothing, or (3) actually makes the bad thing happen. Man is totally and utterly shocked, but doesn't seem really much affected. Man flees or is fled from. Man is gobsmacked. Man wonders how it all went so wrong. If a Philip Roth book, in addition to all that, Man masturbates as though that gave meaning to life and the author really seems to think that it does. If a John Updike book, Man really doesn't seem to get much pleasure from anything, although I think we can assume masturbation occurs there too. At no point does the hero/anti-hero/complete and utter (and very, very small) schmuck ever think, with regard to sex: "Gosh, if I made sure it was loads of fun for her, she'd be more into me." or "I wonder what I could actually do that would get her revved up and then completed."
At no point does the hero/anti-hero/complete and utter (and very, very small) schmuck ever express a thought or does the author write anything than makes any of the women and children anything other than paper dolls. At no point does the hero/anti-hero/complete and utter (and very, very small) schmuck ever have a moment of enlightenment, Gilgamesh-like, where he realizes that no, he will not be immortal, but that's okay. At no point does the hero/anti-hero/complete and utter (and very, very small) schmuck ever really get on a hero's journey, much less complete it. At no point does the hero/anti-hero/complete and utter (and very, very small) schmuck ever realize that while he may never know the meaning of life or know why he's here, the reason he's here (friends, family, lovers, children, other people who need him and who he needs) is demonstrated to him every goddamn day and he's just pissed it away big time.
No enlightenment, no growth, no warmth, no empathy. Just a Man, aging, and bitter about it, wondering how to stop the clock, harden the cock, impress others, and keep from looking into the void.
At no point (and now I am paraphrasing, badly, from the great review the title of which I can recall, by David Foster Wallace+ -- trust me, this isn't plagiarism because it's just not on the same level, but the original better idea and sentence did originate with the estimable Mr. Wallace) does the character ever think that the reason he feels so bad (and no one likes him, especially me) is because he's an asshole.
Which brings me back to male entitlement, feminism, and the urge to howl. That a man with two daughters (MEBLBRF, who I doubt will be reading this blog ever again) could talk about women's obligation to be beautiful (yeah, we signed the contract awarding us that duty) just makes my blood chill the more I think about it. Of course, it irks me so much because it reminds me of the great thoughts that I will be hearing soon enough from Big Grampa. Big Grampa once said of a single friend of mine (who has always said that she wants to be single and has never wanted a husband, and that's not just cover) that he didn't understand why an attractive woman like that couldn't "find a man who would want her to take care of him" without even pausing to think that maybe a woman might want something other than that dynamic.
Interestingly, MEBLBRF also talked about his daughters, one straight, about 17 years old, the other gay and about 20 years old, and mentioned, with real dismay and embarrassment that he thought the straight one was sexually active with (collective gasp of horror here) boys. Now, seventeen is young, but really, it's other teenagers. The concern wasn't male predation (which would be understandable in some contexts), it was more horror that his little girl with all her grown up female parts, all adorned because of her obligation to be beautiful, was meeting her obligations, attracting boys, and then apparently engaging in sexual contact with them. The concern wasn't whether she was practicing safe sex (a worthy worry) or whether her sexual experiences were emotionally and physically satisfying (not a given, by any stretch, particularly if any of her male partners view her to be obligated to be arousing, beautiful, available, or compliant). The concern was that this young woman was actually having sex. Not that she was too young to have sex. Just that she was having sex. The gay daugher, meanwhile, had come home from college with her girlfriend. I'm betting sex was happening there as well.
I can't describe specifically the unease here, but I can just put it in the context of me as a parent. My girls will grow up. They are beautiful. I do worry about predatory male behavior. I do worry about my girls doing things not because they desire it but because they think they're supposed to, or that's the norm, or someone bullies them into it, or, worst of all, just to be accepted or liked. I do worry about safe sex. I do worry about rash adolescent risk-taking (I hitch-hiked alone around Murcia and Andalucia in 1977 as a sixteen-year old, so I know all about the moronic adolescent risk-taking and some of the bad things that might happen, from personal experience. What can I say. I was an idiot. I was sixteen. I was very, very lucky and anyone who mentions this to TigerGrrl or DestructoGirl will die, die, die.). But I do not think having sex in and of itself is a bad thing. I don't think my daughters need to be beautiful (they are anyway, so whoop-de-do, but that's their condition, not their duty), especially not as a condition for anything. I don't think that if they don't shave their legs they'll be chasing away any worthy young man or woman. Anybody worth his or her salt who loves my kids will accept them, hairy legs or not. I don't think virginity in and of itself is worth one blink out of my new contact lenses (or anyone else's). I do think learning what one wants and being able to express it freely is pretty darn important. So I hope they'll, when they're ready for sex, about forty years from now, be self-protective but adventurous and have a great time. Although the whole broken-hearted thing (which everyone goes through at least one) will send me to my grave. I remember that. I don't want that for my daughters. So, upon more reflection, when they are safely in their 30s or 40s, I want them to have satisfying sex with guys or women who they like but with whom they aren't head over heels in love and that will spare me a lot of maternal grief.
And any Updikian or Rothian hero/anti-hero/complete and utter (and very, very small) schmuck who messes with my girls hearts (not hymens, really, who cares) will be either gutted with a grapefruit spoon, slowly, or beaten to death with a shovel, if I'm feeling charitable.
The great DOL has rejected many men because, she says: "I don't want to be a nurse or a purse." This is not a bitter woman (it's her birthday today, btw); this is a woman who almost got sucked dry once++ and is pretty clear she's not going to repeat the process, thank you very much. Big Grampa would say that she'll never find a guy with that negative attitude, but I don't think DOL is too worried. She's got a fish (actually, two cats, but I digress), she's probably got a bicycle, what more could she want?
I'm still trying to figure out what the male mid-life crisis is about. Men don't get the same age-limiting statements that women do starting at age thirty or so ("Are you going to have kids? Better start soon."). Men don't have a virility cut off, even though potency does diminish with time. But guys, everyone ages, and society is shitloads easier on male aging than female aging. You're going to get old. Unless you die. So if I were you (which I'm not: I can have multiple orgasms and you can't -- neener, neener, neener -- but I also will soon have hot flashes, so you can feel all nifty about that) I'd accept the inevitable. You will age, and eventually be old. After that, you will die. A red sports car (with the kids' college fund) isn't going to make you young. A young woman who hasn't learned that what people say and what they are aren't always the same thing isn't going to make you young either.
You can't find the meaning of life? Since I am a kind and loving FoilDivinity (actually quite tasty) or ersatz divinity of some self-appointed sort, I'll help. If you are over age say 25 or 30 (younger than that, you get a bye, it's still a work in progress), the meaning of your life is in the life you live and the people you affect. Not the women (or men) you sleep with. Not the money you make. Not the titles you earn, the praise you are given, or any worldly but ephemeral thing.
It's the kids you diaper who you put to bed who you teach to read who you sing to who you teach to ride a bike who you swim with and watch while they say "Mama/Daddy/Poppy/Uncle Joe/Innana/Tonee/Tuh/Buh/Caffeee, watch this!" who you tuck in to bed who you bandage who you cook for for whom you pretend to be a log that's really a tickle monster who you sternly remind to do their homework who you kiss and cuddle and bathe and bandage who you love who give you meaning. It's the friends you've known for years and grown apart from and grown together with again and discovered that you are two completely distinct and different people with not nearly as much in common as you thought when you were eighteen, but you've known each other so long, respect each other so much, and love each other so much that despite the huge gulfs of reason and understanding and style and demeanor you forge ahead knowing that your life is better and more meaningful with that friend in it. It's the things you do every day.
For me, I try to, despite my exhaustion and obligations (to my children, not to be beautiful for the men of this world although I do look darn good and they are darn lucky to catch a glimpse, which they would do well to remember) stay a friend as well as a loving and devoted+++ mother and still be aware of the world around me. I am a weirdo magnet on Metro, the bus system, and any other public place because I make eye contact. I don't just observe other people (which I want to be better at, but that's not all), I try to actually see them. The weirdo attractor bit is because (here's the clincher) I make eye contact and acknowledge others who look at me and see me. Even when I'm pretty clear someone is a bit off, unless I get the danger whiff, I'll engage a little bit. I don't give a ton of emotional investment, but I will answer questions about knitting, the book I'm reading, the skates I'm carrying, or whatever. I'll interrupt tourists about to go in the totally wrong direction (On Metro Medical Center and Metro Center are on the same line but quite far apart, you know? Likewise, someone seeking to go to Falls Church really needs to be told that East Falls Church and West Falls Church are two different stops. Fort Totten and Fort Washington: not at all the same.) and I'll ask a question of a seatmate who seems open to the idea of conversation.
Not a lot of meaning, but it's there. Why is this so hard for so many people? And why does it make me so mad (I really want to slap John Updike's face, except he's so in his own little world I don't think he'd notice is I did. I don't he'd notice if Mike Tyson did. Certainly his characters wouldn't)? Maybe he actually has some lesson he's trying to impart, but my read is that he actually thinks this is a normal (and not completely oblivious and idiotic way to behave. Stephen King novels are less horrific and a lot more lively, even when dealing with the undead ('Salem's Lot, anyone?).
*No, I am not linking to them in any way. So sorry. If you're smart enough to read my blog this far down into a post you should be smart enough to know what I say is true. If, even so, you want to read more about these exemplars of self-involvement, by all means, google the flatulent and self-referential duo. They'll pop up, no matter how hard you try to avoid them.
**In the Foilverse, if you have children and can't figure out what the meaning of life is, such apostasy shall be punishable by complete and utter eradication from existence, unless of course, you do all your moaning about the meaninglessness of your truly meaningless existence without cluing your kids into that. Then you are spared, so long as you keep your complete and utter plotzishness hidden from your offspring and do what any halfway decent parent does and make your children feel like they are the important thing to you, they are the meaning of life, they are your treasure. If you can't do that***, in the Foilverse your children will be given to a new and improved parent or parents and you will be proven right about the meaningless of your existence as even the historical record of your existence will disappear. Ah, to be omnipotent.
***Please note that most children think their very own parents actually do this, even when their parents are psychopaths, so most parents will be spared, despite my wish to smite them. Thus, pretty much everyone will be spared, despite my bloodthirsty guidelines.
+By the way, Sr. Champurrado, thank you so much for recommending David Foster Wallace and T.C. Boyle to me. Yum. And for giving me those wonderful (but impossible to locate in the big, big pile o' books that once was my bedroom, but that's not something that bothers me much and yes, I'm a lazy slattern, thank you very much) books. Consider the lobster, indeed.
++Buffy the Vampire Slayer can really explain it all to you.
+++Officially. DOL said so.
May 30, 2007
May 29, 2007
Who Says the Big City Is Impersonal? Not to Me, Anyway
Every time I write about the mundane/quotidian/ordinary worries and preoccupations of my life, I feel guilty. I should be addressing the now defunct Pax Americana (replaced by the Eternal War Americana), the loss of civil rights, increasing misogyny, at home and abroad, and other big issues.
But I'm not high enough on the hierarchy of needs to get that far afield. I'm stuck in the self-centered world of a person of slightly less than sufficient needs, and just can reach that far out of myself right now. But there have been some smaller scale external occurrences that have struck me, in a state of sort of fond disinterest.
First of all, I'm definitely attracting all the talkers on Metro. SNV and I, when we were younger (yesterday, maybe?), used to joke about our mutual and incomparable ability to attract absolute and utter weirdos in public. Somehow, we seemed approachable. The lady with the tinfoil in her hair to block out the CIA/Jovian brainwashing waves would sit next to me and start talking. Invariably.
So after weeks of sitting next to the attorney reading his confidential notes or draft memo on the subway, last week I sat directly behind a weedy middle-aged (older than me, anyway) gent who turned out to be a very good artist. He drew other people on the Metro, and I could always see who from his pen. He just sketched for about 10 stops.
Then today, I got to read all about Idaho's state employee pension plan and other state employee benefits. Not confidential, just a bit bizarre. Idaho is a sovereign state, not a territory-like jurisdictionn with built in incompetent and interfering Congressional oversight, like DC. Who was that guy.
Last week, I got the name and address of a seatmate's sister's yarn shop in Philadelphia, despite the fact that it will be a cold day in hell before I travel to Philly to buy wool. Huh?
But I'm not high enough on the hierarchy of needs to get that far afield. I'm stuck in the self-centered world of a person of slightly less than sufficient needs, and just can reach that far out of myself right now. But there have been some smaller scale external occurrences that have struck me, in a state of sort of fond disinterest.
First of all, I'm definitely attracting all the talkers on Metro. SNV and I, when we were younger (yesterday, maybe?), used to joke about our mutual and incomparable ability to attract absolute and utter weirdos in public. Somehow, we seemed approachable. The lady with the tinfoil in her hair to block out the CIA/Jovian brainwashing waves would sit next to me and start talking. Invariably.
So after weeks of sitting next to the attorney reading his confidential notes or draft memo on the subway, last week I sat directly behind a weedy middle-aged (older than me, anyway) gent who turned out to be a very good artist. He drew other people on the Metro, and I could always see who from his pen. He just sketched for about 10 stops.
Then today, I got to read all about Idaho's state employee pension plan and other state employee benefits. Not confidential, just a bit bizarre. Idaho is a sovereign state, not a territory-like jurisdictionn with built in incompetent and interfering Congressional oversight, like DC. Who was that guy.
Last week, I got the name and address of a seatmate's sister's yarn shop in Philadelphia, despite the fact that it will be a cold day in hell before I travel to Philly to buy wool. Huh?
May 25, 2007
Really Needing a Shot in The Arm Right About Now
I don't believe I have ever been this tired, and this has been my normal state of existence for a few weeks now. Also, I'm 46 and isn't this being wiped out for a week at a time supposed to, I don't know, slow down? Nope.
But I'm more than post-PMS-tired (euphemism for the squeamish) right now. I'm exhausted, and can't get enough sleep and can't get to sleep and can't stay asleep. This is not a good combo.
And I have a three-day weekend with two not-so-small but quite young humanoids, which means there won't be any letting up on the exhaustion front. Oh, except the pool opens which means I will strap that life-jacket on DestructoGirl, and try to sound appropriately prideful and impressed when TigerGrrl says: "Mama, watch this!"*
I'll catch some cat naps while floating in the pool, maybe?
I'm almost missing the terrifed and afraid-for-what-might-happen-next days of early separation. The adrenaline gets you going, definitely. Just trying to keep stocked in ramen noodles just doesn't have the same motivating affect. But floating in a pool? I can manage that.
*The other day, TigerGrrl was trying to show me some impressive Leggo edifice she had constructed and said: "Mama, don't just say 'Mmm-hmmm', okay?" So I have my marching orders.
But I'm more than post-PMS-tired (euphemism for the squeamish) right now. I'm exhausted, and can't get enough sleep and can't get to sleep and can't stay asleep. This is not a good combo.
And I have a three-day weekend with two not-so-small but quite young humanoids, which means there won't be any letting up on the exhaustion front. Oh, except the pool opens which means I will strap that life-jacket on DestructoGirl, and try to sound appropriately prideful and impressed when TigerGrrl says: "Mama, watch this!"*
I'll catch some cat naps while floating in the pool, maybe?
I'm almost missing the terrifed and afraid-for-what-might-happen-next days of early separation. The adrenaline gets you going, definitely. Just trying to keep stocked in ramen noodles just doesn't have the same motivating affect. But floating in a pool? I can manage that.
*The other day, TigerGrrl was trying to show me some impressive Leggo edifice she had constructed and said: "Mama, don't just say 'Mmm-hmmm', okay?" So I have my marching orders.
May 23, 2007
Time Enough . . . But None, I Fear, Do There Embrace
To make much of time, and all that. No virgin here, but there is never enough time. Today was a rollercoaster, time management-wise.
DestructoGirl had her second dentist's appointment ever. On the Metro into town, she announced, to all hanging one her every word, that "Je va a dentist" whether or not that is grammatically correct French, and then: "Je love my dentist." Or wuv, I suppose. My whole train car was appropriately amused. I was told how lovely she was. What a pretty girl she was. How smart she was. And many other things that filled a doting mother's heart with glee.
We had two women sitting directly behind us who were impressed that my two-year old was not five, who thought it was hilarious that she loved her dentist ("hasn't had a root canal yet, has she?" said the darker one), who though she was just the cutest little jambon (ham), which is a statement with which no sane person, doting mother or otherwise, could reasonably disagree.
Then we got to the dentist, and DestructoGirl refused to open her mouth and show off her pretty teeth (she has twenty-one, right now) until she was allowed to sit on Mama's lap and hold the tooth polisher and the vacuum tube (Mr. Thirsty), with which she vacuumed much of the surrounding environs. Then the dentist made the chair go up and down, and that was a very exciting thing. It was a good morning.
Of course, I started the day behind schedule, and am now exhausted. I shall sit an read a science fiction novel and then attempt to tackle J.J.'s tag.
DestructoGirl had her second dentist's appointment ever. On the Metro into town, she announced, to all hanging one her every word, that "Je va a dentist" whether or not that is grammatically correct French, and then: "Je love my dentist." Or wuv, I suppose. My whole train car was appropriately amused. I was told how lovely she was. What a pretty girl she was. How smart she was. And many other things that filled a doting mother's heart with glee.
We had two women sitting directly behind us who were impressed that my two-year old was not five, who thought it was hilarious that she loved her dentist ("hasn't had a root canal yet, has she?" said the darker one), who though she was just the cutest little jambon (ham), which is a statement with which no sane person, doting mother or otherwise, could reasonably disagree.
Then we got to the dentist, and DestructoGirl refused to open her mouth and show off her pretty teeth (she has twenty-one, right now) until she was allowed to sit on Mama's lap and hold the tooth polisher and the vacuum tube (Mr. Thirsty), with which she vacuumed much of the surrounding environs. Then the dentist made the chair go up and down, and that was a very exciting thing. It was a good morning.
Of course, I started the day behind schedule, and am now exhausted. I shall sit an read a science fiction novel and then attempt to tackle J.J.'s tag.
May 21, 2007
Helping to Do the Lord's Work (or, More Accurately My Work)
And I am profoundly grateful, because a superheroine's work is never done. Ridding the word of rudeness, petty annoyances, downright dangers, and Metro seat hogs and the feckless fools who use those seats as private offices really do take a lot of energy out of me. So bless their hearts, the good folk at DC Blogs chose to mention my pissed off post of Friday/Saturday (lot's o' rewriting in that one). Thanks! And if anyone one sees an OESJ (over-entitled selfish jerk, remember?) doing the things we've discussed? Look for the ID tag (or for the firm name on the privileged memo) and send the data to me. I'll forward it on to: his* employer or client (whichever can be determined from what they reveal) and the news media outlets of our choices (no more than three).
*I would use "his or her", but as I have stated, this is largely a "his" activity.
*I would use "his or her", but as I have stated, this is largely a "his" activity.
May 20, 2007
Karma
I'm almost afraid to get on public transportation (bus, then Metro) to go to work tomorrow. Really. Who will be doing something stupid to irk me? Just about everyone, in the mood I should be in (think lunar schedule here). But I'm actually pretty happy.
I've had a great weekend. I saw SNV. I saw Ex-Marine Fred. I saw Innana twice. I took several two-mile walks in good weather. I ate Chinese food. I even saw the girls even though it wasn't my weekend, due to TigerGrrl wanting to do some things with friends right here in this neighborhood. I roasted a nice top round beef roast that I got for $1.99/pound. I have so many dry goods, we could last out the Seige of Leningrad without hunger (and without running out of ramen noodle soup, which my daughters love), due to a Saturday spree at Costco. I have real maple syrup and extra-virgin olive oil.* And I'm planning the activities for when LOS visits in a few weeks.
Tomorrow, I will wake up hormonal and bloated, but I'll have the memory of good things, and I should probably make it into work without harming a member of the public. I won't say what bus line (or even bus company) or Metro line I'll be on, but unless some idiot mistakes Metro for his or her private workspace, I'll probably even be pleasant to everyone. And that really is lots more fun. And then, when I get home from work tomorrow, the girls will be here.
What could make tomorrow even better? Well, Alberto Gonzales could resign already. Idiot. Only in Bizarro World would a boss keep thinking that that particular OESJ (remember: Over-Entitled-Selfish-Jerk) is "doing a great job".**
*Which tastes better, but makes me think: what the fuck does extra-virgin mean anyway. Does that go with the extra-pregnant mother of god?
**Just like Bremer in Iraq, Wolfowitz at the World Bank, or, most heinous recipient of a paeon from Shrub, Michael Brown (who did for New Orleans what Shrub is doing to the rest of us).
I've had a great weekend. I saw SNV. I saw Ex-Marine Fred. I saw Innana twice. I took several two-mile walks in good weather. I ate Chinese food. I even saw the girls even though it wasn't my weekend, due to TigerGrrl wanting to do some things with friends right here in this neighborhood. I roasted a nice top round beef roast that I got for $1.99/pound. I have so many dry goods, we could last out the Seige of Leningrad without hunger (and without running out of ramen noodle soup, which my daughters love), due to a Saturday spree at Costco. I have real maple syrup and extra-virgin olive oil.* And I'm planning the activities for when LOS visits in a few weeks.
Tomorrow, I will wake up hormonal and bloated, but I'll have the memory of good things, and I should probably make it into work without harming a member of the public. I won't say what bus line (or even bus company) or Metro line I'll be on, but unless some idiot mistakes Metro for his or her private workspace, I'll probably even be pleasant to everyone. And that really is lots more fun. And then, when I get home from work tomorrow, the girls will be here.
What could make tomorrow even better? Well, Alberto Gonzales could resign already. Idiot. Only in Bizarro World would a boss keep thinking that that particular OESJ (remember: Over-Entitled-Selfish-Jerk) is "doing a great job".**
*Which tastes better, but makes me think: what the fuck does extra-virgin mean anyway. Does that go with the extra-pregnant mother of god?
**Just like Bremer in Iraq, Wolfowitz at the World Bank, or, most heinous recipient of a paeon from Shrub, Michael Brown (who did for New Orleans what Shrub is doing to the rest of us).
May 19, 2007
Now That We Have A Diagnosis
From the Pope, no less (my whom I mean our very own Benedict XVI -- Madder and Badder than the Fifteenth), I can move forward to the cure for PMS. That would be to spend a beautiful day outdoors with friends.
SNV and I went on our biweekly death march (really only three or four miles roundtrip), had a coffee and SNV opined that many of the men I described in my previous post are actually channelling Paul Wolfowitz's "I'm the center of the universe and it's all about me and my advancement, and who gives a crap about an organization's stated goals anyway?"
I then talked about things about life that I actually like right now, and so did SNV.
We like:
1--That the weather right now, sunny and a bit cool, is what we both, Scandinavian and New Englander, consider perfect summer weather and we're going to enjoy it, by gum.
2--That Ex-Marine Fred has finally finished his golf club repair shop (????)* in the basement, and will be available to take TigerGrrl golfing next weekend.
3--That Costco had roasting chicken available at $.79 per pound.
4--That Rajah, Trudi, and Lucy are truly fine felines.
5--That CNL is having a well-deserved trip home to Norway to see her sister and we all get a break, for fuck's sake. Neither Ex-Marine Fred nor I like CNL much (she's a sourpuss, just ask Cookie), but we tolerate her and SNL's social events. Life is easier when she's elsewhere however.
6--That After the Wedding (Efter Brylluppet) really was a darn fine movie and I wasn't just saying that because it's Danish (although that's a good reason to praise something as well). SNL, who I don't think has seen the movie (I saw it with Innana on my birthday), was visibly tolerant, but hey, that's what friends do.
There were several other deep and meaningful thoughts there as well, but generally we had a nice walk and then sat on the deck of SNL/EMF's house and had wine (one glass). After the glass, I headed home and then realized I was too tipsy to drive (I had forgotten to eat and the unlikelihood of that ever happening makes me wonder if the Earth has stopped spinning on it's axis) and pulled into to Innana's parking lot and call her on my cell phone. She kindly let me sober up from my one (really!) glass of wine by drinking all her sodas, eating half of her Chinese dinner, and watching Something Wicked This Way Comes on video.
It's pretty darn embarrassing to realize that (1) I got so busy that one forgot to eat, (2) that I then drank a glass of wine on an empty stomach, and (3) that I then drove two (2) whole blocks before I realized that I was too lightheaded to drive. However, better safe than sorry, and it's better to be embarrassed than incarcerated or ticketed (can't afford that) or worse. I had no interest in driving on the Beltway like that. I knew I was well below the legal blood alcohol limit, but I also knew I was slightly impaired, and I am very grateful to Innana for merely laughing at me a bit. And letting me in, rather than telling me to call a cab or whatever, especially since she was in the middle of a rather major spring cleaning.
But we had a good time, and I get to see her again tomorrow. Another good thing. Even with PMS (did that contribute to the lightheadedness?), I'm in a happy mood and life is pretty darn good right now.
SNV and I went on our biweekly death march (really only three or four miles roundtrip), had a coffee and SNV opined that many of the men I described in my previous post are actually channelling Paul Wolfowitz's "I'm the center of the universe and it's all about me and my advancement, and who gives a crap about an organization's stated goals anyway?"
I then talked about things about life that I actually like right now, and so did SNV.
We like:
1--That the weather right now, sunny and a bit cool, is what we both, Scandinavian and New Englander, consider perfect summer weather and we're going to enjoy it, by gum.
2--That Ex-Marine Fred has finally finished his golf club repair shop (????)* in the basement, and will be available to take TigerGrrl golfing next weekend.
3--That Costco had roasting chicken available at $.79 per pound.
4--That Rajah, Trudi, and Lucy are truly fine felines.
5--That CNL is having a well-deserved trip home to Norway to see her sister and we all get a break, for fuck's sake. Neither Ex-Marine Fred nor I like CNL much (she's a sourpuss, just ask Cookie), but we tolerate her and SNL's social events. Life is easier when she's elsewhere however.
6--That After the Wedding (Efter Brylluppet) really was a darn fine movie and I wasn't just saying that because it's Danish (although that's a good reason to praise something as well). SNL, who I don't think has seen the movie (I saw it with Innana on my birthday), was visibly tolerant, but hey, that's what friends do.
There were several other deep and meaningful thoughts there as well, but generally we had a nice walk and then sat on the deck of SNL/EMF's house and had wine (one glass). After the glass, I headed home and then realized I was too tipsy to drive (I had forgotten to eat and the unlikelihood of that ever happening makes me wonder if the Earth has stopped spinning on it's axis) and pulled into to Innana's parking lot and call her on my cell phone. She kindly let me sober up from my one (really!) glass of wine by drinking all her sodas, eating half of her Chinese dinner, and watching Something Wicked This Way Comes on video.
It's pretty darn embarrassing to realize that (1) I got so busy that one forgot to eat, (2) that I then drank a glass of wine on an empty stomach, and (3) that I then drove two (2) whole blocks before I realized that I was too lightheaded to drive. However, better safe than sorry, and it's better to be embarrassed than incarcerated or ticketed (can't afford that) or worse. I had no interest in driving on the Beltway like that. I knew I was well below the legal blood alcohol limit, but I also knew I was slightly impaired, and I am very grateful to Innana for merely laughing at me a bit. And letting me in, rather than telling me to call a cab or whatever, especially since she was in the middle of a rather major spring cleaning.
But we had a good time, and I get to see her again tomorrow. Another good thing. Even with PMS (did that contribute to the lightheadedness?), I'm in a happy mood and life is pretty darn good right now.
May 18, 2007
You Really Don't Want to Piss Me Off Right Now (Final Version: May 19, 2007)
I've spent this week, and particularly, today beyond irritated at the oblivious idiocy of others. This doesn't mean I was doing everything right. I wasn't. I was just trying to put one foot ahead of the other. But I witnessed certain behaviors that made me wonder whether the perpetrators of said behavior suffered from Asberger's syndrome, some form of autism, or simply were incapable of viewing things from other people's perspectives. Most of the actions I observed, I observed in public, on the Metro. I also observed some behavior at various professional-type environments including my office (which I am not describing, but it added to my general irritability and intolerance at the present), a professional society to which I belong, at a professional's office, and at a charity where I volunteer. To my immense gratification and happiness I observed none of this behavior while at TigerGrrl's school (chaperoning a field trip) or within my apartment complex, so the really important areas for me remained, how shall I put this: asshole free. But for now, a bit of whinge ongoing. You might want to go away now and come back when I'm more tolerant of human foibles.
Now, a number of these perspectives conflict with one another, but that's part of what I am talking (well, writing, really) about.
Complaint Une: Just being plain old selfish (as well as deeply unprofessional, and possibly commiting malpractice or even treason, but I think those things go along with the selfishness). I have seen this happen many times. It's mostly men. Middle-aged white men wearing suits. Sometimes it's women, sometimes it's teenagers, and sometimes it's men of other races, but the vast majority of times it's middle-aged white men wearing suits and carrying briefcases or laptops.
As you may or may not know, Washington, DC has a lovely and now heavily used subway system called the Metro, the subway cars of which have more seats per car than most other subway systems. Here's what the objects of my ire do: they sit down on a two-seat seat on Metro during rush hour and place their things on the other seat. Or they sit in the outside seat, blocking access to the window seat. Sometimes they even do this in the handicapped seats. Often, they are lawyers or government officials. How do I know? I can read what they are working on. For the lawyers, it is often a document marked, in bold: Confidential -- Attorney-Client Privilege or Confidential -- Attorney Work Product. For the government workers, occasionally (not as often as the lawyers, sometimes the document is just bureaucratic gobbledegook with no secrecy or confidentiality markings) the document is marked Confidential or, more rarely, Secret.*
I always ask them to move their stuff and sit next to them. They inevitably have their legs spread and are taking up more than half the seat. I may nudge or elbow them. If I'm feeling really obnoxious, I ask them about the subject matter of their privileged, confidential, or secret document. They always look offended. One guy even said, "Can't you see that you shouldn't be reading that?" My response: "I think you're the one who's failing in your obligations here, n'est-ce-pas?"**
For once and for all, for the love of squirrels and cuddly bunnies and the American way, keep your privileged, confidential, or secret documents in your briefcases when you are out in public! Why is that a tough one? Anything you don't want other people to know? Don't put it out where they can see or hear it. Also, don't hog the goddamn Metro seat: if you didn't try to, I wouldn't sit next to you and try and elbow you. I really don't want to be anywhere near you. The coveted seat next to you really is the last seat most people want.
By the way, one guy who does this (hogs the seat by taking the outside seat and by reading confidential-marked documents in public) is some sort of a suit for a transportation-related agency I can identify and I know his name. How do I know? I can read his ID badge***. I don't think that's the company policy or anything. I think the man I have observed is just an over-entitled selfish jerk (hereinafter: "OESJ"). Next time OESJ does this, I'm printing his name and agency here and ccing his identity (and the nature of the confidential work that I had the opportunity to read but virtuously *cough* did not -- other than the subject line, of course) to the head of the agency, its P.R. department, and an appropriate news media outlet. I'll desribe him, anyway. Short (maybe 5'6"), red-haired, brown-eyed, bearded, not at all attractive, relatively in shape, and takes up a lot of space for a teeny-tiny person (maybe that's his point). I've seen OESJ twice on the Red Line, both times taking up two seats and reading confidential documents in plain view.
Complaint Deux: "Oh what a victim I am. Not that I did anything about it." I don't know why this behavior pattern irks me so, but I've seen too much of it of late. I can't describe the thing that set me off today without risking identifying myself more than I want to, but I have a perfect analogy in some past complaints about behavior on mass transit in the Washington Post.
As stated above in Complaint Une, the Metro has beaucoup de seats, including specially marked handicapped seats near the doors for the elderly and disabled. The big "I'm a victim" complaint is this: a handicapped or pregnant or elderly person gets on the train and no-one stands to offer one of the handicapped seats.
Now, I agree, that's bad. One should stand and offer a seat to someone who needs it more, especially if one is sitting in the handicapped seat. However, people on the subway are busy, preoccupied, not making eye contact, listening to Ipods, engrossed in books and otherwise not paying attention to others. Rather than write a letter to the editor about the inconsiderate yahoos who won't stand for a disabled person (or pregnant woman or whoever), why not give them the benefit of the doubt? Say "Excuse me, but I really need to sit down" or something like that. I rarely had to say that when I was pregnant -- I simply waddled my massive belly over to the victim of choice and that person would rise like the sun -- but I never had to say it twice. I also never had to complain about people being so selfish. I would assume that those who didn't rise were just not paying attention. Confronted with my massively pregnant self, they would do the instant calculation of Do-I-Want-To-Keep-Sitting-More-Than-I-Want-To-Risk-Her-Water-Breaking and they would give me the seat. I would thank them, and they could think they were being selfless. Go them! I don't understand nursing a grievance about ill-treatment one could have avoided. Most people like to think of themselves as kind to others (even if they really aren't) -- give them a chance to deceive themselves further.
Complaint Trois: Turf Protection. I intellectually understand turf protection, but it can get ridiculous. When resources are scarce (and getting scarcer) you do not win points by insisting that nothing in your budget is touchable. I'm having to trim some programs, volunteer-wise, which is no news flash to anyone in the organization. There are numerous ways to do it, and I'm focussing on administrative crapola rather than actual services that benefit people.
You'd think the ability to send intra-city packages by courier was as essential as oxygen. Let's think about this for a second, and just imagine that whatever my volunteer activity and organization is, it provides real value to real people and that couriers carrying board minutes around town do nothing to provide that value. Easy to imagine, no? If it were a soup kitchen, would these same bozos argue that one should cut the food served but still send around operating minutes by courier? Pisses me off.
Complaint Quatre: Assuming other people's availability. On one of my volunteer activities, I have one nice but clueless man who really thinks resources and people grow on trees. He can waste enormous amounts of volunteer time. I'm in charge of coordinating resources for one project, which means assigning volunteers to various tasks. Tasks are supposed to come to me, and I farm them out. This man invariably can't fill out a volunteer requisition form and wait for a task to be assigned (trust me, his tasks aren't that urgent). He just grabs someone and puts them to work, derailing everyone else's schedules. I had three other people horrendously inconvenienced (with real deadlines that had to be changed) because this man grabbed my best volunteer who was working on these three important projects and told her his stuff needed to be done now. Of course, no one else's work was as important as his.
Except in the scheme of things, his project was small potatoes, and the two of the other three projects were quite important and the third, while not quite so important, was more important than his.
Now he feels important, and everyone else's work is screwed up. I allowed myself to be less than congenial when I explained to him the funding we might lose as a result of a proposal failing to meet deadline (we met the deadline because I worked on it after the kids went to bed this week, doing the work the volunteer would have done).
This man gets away with this because he is congenial and pleasant, but he wastes everyone's time, including his own. He apologized, but he will do this again. I'm bumping him off the fundraising committee, that's for damn sure. Have I mentioned how much I hate committee work?
And yet, getting this mad about all this obnoxious/selfish/whiny/stupid behavior is also a waste and a form of the "Geez, I'm a victim too" mentality and whining on my part. People are naturally self-centered. The best managers of people and effective individuals work around people to get them to do good or great things. I'm sure I can figure that out and not let obnoxious/selfish/whiny/stupid people ("OSWSP" for the future) get to me.
*Only once, and good citizen that I am, I allowed myself only enough of a glance to determine the overall subject matter (enough to ask the feckless asshole a question about it) without gaining comprehension of the actual discussion therein.
**No, I didn't really say n'est-ce-pas. That would be pretentious. I'm rephrasing. I'm irked.
***No use hiding it now, bucko, I've committed your name and employer to memory, even if I haven't revealed either (yet). Think NTSB, TRB, DOT, or something like that.
Now, a number of these perspectives conflict with one another, but that's part of what I am talking (well, writing, really) about.
Complaint Une: Just being plain old selfish (as well as deeply unprofessional, and possibly commiting malpractice or even treason, but I think those things go along with the selfishness). I have seen this happen many times. It's mostly men. Middle-aged white men wearing suits. Sometimes it's women, sometimes it's teenagers, and sometimes it's men of other races, but the vast majority of times it's middle-aged white men wearing suits and carrying briefcases or laptops.
As you may or may not know, Washington, DC has a lovely and now heavily used subway system called the Metro, the subway cars of which have more seats per car than most other subway systems. Here's what the objects of my ire do: they sit down on a two-seat seat on Metro during rush hour and place their things on the other seat. Or they sit in the outside seat, blocking access to the window seat. Sometimes they even do this in the handicapped seats. Often, they are lawyers or government officials. How do I know? I can read what they are working on. For the lawyers, it is often a document marked, in bold: Confidential -- Attorney-Client Privilege or Confidential -- Attorney Work Product. For the government workers, occasionally (not as often as the lawyers, sometimes the document is just bureaucratic gobbledegook with no secrecy or confidentiality markings) the document is marked Confidential or, more rarely, Secret.*
I always ask them to move their stuff and sit next to them. They inevitably have their legs spread and are taking up more than half the seat. I may nudge or elbow them. If I'm feeling really obnoxious, I ask them about the subject matter of their privileged, confidential, or secret document. They always look offended. One guy even said, "Can't you see that you shouldn't be reading that?" My response: "I think you're the one who's failing in your obligations here, n'est-ce-pas?"**
For once and for all, for the love of squirrels and cuddly bunnies and the American way, keep your privileged, confidential, or secret documents in your briefcases when you are out in public! Why is that a tough one? Anything you don't want other people to know? Don't put it out where they can see or hear it. Also, don't hog the goddamn Metro seat: if you didn't try to, I wouldn't sit next to you and try and elbow you. I really don't want to be anywhere near you. The coveted seat next to you really is the last seat most people want.
By the way, one guy who does this (hogs the seat by taking the outside seat and by reading confidential-marked documents in public) is some sort of a suit for a transportation-related agency I can identify and I know his name. How do I know? I can read his ID badge***. I don't think that's the company policy or anything. I think the man I have observed is just an over-entitled selfish jerk (hereinafter: "OESJ"). Next time OESJ does this, I'm printing his name and agency here and ccing his identity (and the nature of the confidential work that I had the opportunity to read but virtuously *cough* did not -- other than the subject line, of course) to the head of the agency, its P.R. department, and an appropriate news media outlet. I'll desribe him, anyway. Short (maybe 5'6"), red-haired, brown-eyed, bearded, not at all attractive, relatively in shape, and takes up a lot of space for a teeny-tiny person (maybe that's his point). I've seen OESJ twice on the Red Line, both times taking up two seats and reading confidential documents in plain view.
Complaint Deux: "Oh what a victim I am. Not that I did anything about it." I don't know why this behavior pattern irks me so, but I've seen too much of it of late. I can't describe the thing that set me off today without risking identifying myself more than I want to, but I have a perfect analogy in some past complaints about behavior on mass transit in the Washington Post.
As stated above in Complaint Une, the Metro has beaucoup de seats, including specially marked handicapped seats near the doors for the elderly and disabled. The big "I'm a victim" complaint is this: a handicapped or pregnant or elderly person gets on the train and no-one stands to offer one of the handicapped seats.
Now, I agree, that's bad. One should stand and offer a seat to someone who needs it more, especially if one is sitting in the handicapped seat. However, people on the subway are busy, preoccupied, not making eye contact, listening to Ipods, engrossed in books and otherwise not paying attention to others. Rather than write a letter to the editor about the inconsiderate yahoos who won't stand for a disabled person (or pregnant woman or whoever), why not give them the benefit of the doubt? Say "Excuse me, but I really need to sit down" or something like that. I rarely had to say that when I was pregnant -- I simply waddled my massive belly over to the victim of choice and that person would rise like the sun -- but I never had to say it twice. I also never had to complain about people being so selfish. I would assume that those who didn't rise were just not paying attention. Confronted with my massively pregnant self, they would do the instant calculation of Do-I-Want-To-Keep-Sitting-More-Than-I-Want-To-Risk-Her-Water-Breaking and they would give me the seat. I would thank them, and they could think they were being selfless. Go them! I don't understand nursing a grievance about ill-treatment one could have avoided. Most people like to think of themselves as kind to others (even if they really aren't) -- give them a chance to deceive themselves further.
Complaint Trois: Turf Protection. I intellectually understand turf protection, but it can get ridiculous. When resources are scarce (and getting scarcer) you do not win points by insisting that nothing in your budget is touchable. I'm having to trim some programs, volunteer-wise, which is no news flash to anyone in the organization. There are numerous ways to do it, and I'm focussing on administrative crapola rather than actual services that benefit people.
You'd think the ability to send intra-city packages by courier was as essential as oxygen. Let's think about this for a second, and just imagine that whatever my volunteer activity and organization is, it provides real value to real people and that couriers carrying board minutes around town do nothing to provide that value. Easy to imagine, no? If it were a soup kitchen, would these same bozos argue that one should cut the food served but still send around operating minutes by courier? Pisses me off.
Complaint Quatre: Assuming other people's availability. On one of my volunteer activities, I have one nice but clueless man who really thinks resources and people grow on trees. He can waste enormous amounts of volunteer time. I'm in charge of coordinating resources for one project, which means assigning volunteers to various tasks. Tasks are supposed to come to me, and I farm them out. This man invariably can't fill out a volunteer requisition form and wait for a task to be assigned (trust me, his tasks aren't that urgent). He just grabs someone and puts them to work, derailing everyone else's schedules. I had three other people horrendously inconvenienced (with real deadlines that had to be changed) because this man grabbed my best volunteer who was working on these three important projects and told her his stuff needed to be done now. Of course, no one else's work was as important as his.
Except in the scheme of things, his project was small potatoes, and the two of the other three projects were quite important and the third, while not quite so important, was more important than his.
Now he feels important, and everyone else's work is screwed up. I allowed myself to be less than congenial when I explained to him the funding we might lose as a result of a proposal failing to meet deadline (we met the deadline because I worked on it after the kids went to bed this week, doing the work the volunteer would have done).
This man gets away with this because he is congenial and pleasant, but he wastes everyone's time, including his own. He apologized, but he will do this again. I'm bumping him off the fundraising committee, that's for damn sure. Have I mentioned how much I hate committee work?
And yet, getting this mad about all this obnoxious/selfish/whiny/stupid behavior is also a waste and a form of the "Geez, I'm a victim too" mentality and whining on my part. People are naturally self-centered. The best managers of people and effective individuals work around people to get them to do good or great things. I'm sure I can figure that out and not let obnoxious/selfish/whiny/stupid people ("OSWSP" for the future) get to me.
*Only once, and good citizen that I am, I allowed myself only enough of a glance to determine the overall subject matter (enough to ask the feckless asshole a question about it) without gaining comprehension of the actual discussion therein.
**No, I didn't really say n'est-ce-pas. That would be pretentious. I'm rephrasing. I'm irked.
***No use hiding it now, bucko, I've committed your name and employer to memory, even if I haven't revealed either (yet). Think NTSB, TRB, DOT, or something like that.
May 16, 2007
On Femininity
I'm just stuck reading Susan Brownmiller's Femininity. I want to read it. I just can't. Probably, the reason I am thwarting myself in my endeavor is that as a woman, reading most feminist works is just so damn depressing. There's no solution that I see.
Women of the world, we try to be feminine, whatever that is, but the goalpost is always moving. And the requirements are contradictory and at times impossible.
The biggest problem is that being feminine isn't like being female. Being feminine is a state of appearance, of being perceived to be a certain way. Softspoken, soft-skinned, sweet-smelling, sexually attractive, certainly not too big (or strong).
I'm a woman. I have ovaries. I'm female. I'm not particularly feminine although I can be, but the whole schtick take a lot of time and money*, both of which are in short supply in the FoilFlat. Also, lots of things that are associated with being feminine are at best uncomfortable and at worst just plain old hurt.**
I'm a forty-six year old who has had two children, one less than three years ago. I don't think that being a mother or giving birth is considered "feminine", but I think that's a damn sight more feminine (if the word is to have any meaning, which I freely concede it doesn't) that getting a bikini wax. Or speaking in a high voice. Or painting fingernails or toenails.
Feminist writing will point out all these annoyances and indignities, yet there is no solution. It really pisses me off.*** All suggested solutions welcome.
*Razor blades, shaving cream, tweezers, foundation, hair dye, hair conditioner, SPF-15 or higher oil-free facial moisturizing lotion, eye cream, lipstick, bras, combs, brushes, eyeliner, eyeshadow, perfume, deodorant, control top hosiery and the like, nail polish, nail polish remover, astringent, cover-up, hair gel . . . all that stuff is not inexpensive. Note I didn't even include on the list the essential for female (as opposed to feminine) life prior to menopause supplies that are also quite expensive: birth control, tampons, sanitary pads, and ibuprophen.
**Waxing. Shaping garments. Heels. Tweezing. Certain hairstyles. They all hurt.
***Please note, it's not the feminists who are pissing me off (I generally don't piss myself off, and as a feminist, if uneducated in the theory myself, I'm aware that other feminists are just pointing out the way the world currently is. However, I want more than awareness of the problem. I want a solution that doesn't involve me taking on the social role of a pariah or really eccentric person with whom no-one interacts.
Women of the world, we try to be feminine, whatever that is, but the goalpost is always moving. And the requirements are contradictory and at times impossible.
The biggest problem is that being feminine isn't like being female. Being feminine is a state of appearance, of being perceived to be a certain way. Softspoken, soft-skinned, sweet-smelling, sexually attractive, certainly not too big (or strong).
I'm a woman. I have ovaries. I'm female. I'm not particularly feminine although I can be, but the whole schtick take a lot of time and money*, both of which are in short supply in the FoilFlat. Also, lots of things that are associated with being feminine are at best uncomfortable and at worst just plain old hurt.**
I'm a forty-six year old who has had two children, one less than three years ago. I don't think that being a mother or giving birth is considered "feminine", but I think that's a damn sight more feminine (if the word is to have any meaning, which I freely concede it doesn't) that getting a bikini wax. Or speaking in a high voice. Or painting fingernails or toenails.
Feminist writing will point out all these annoyances and indignities, yet there is no solution. It really pisses me off.*** All suggested solutions welcome.
*Razor blades, shaving cream, tweezers, foundation, hair dye, hair conditioner, SPF-15 or higher oil-free facial moisturizing lotion, eye cream, lipstick, bras, combs, brushes, eyeliner, eyeshadow, perfume, deodorant, control top hosiery and the like, nail polish, nail polish remover, astringent, cover-up, hair gel . . . all that stuff is not inexpensive. Note I didn't even include on the list the essential for female (as opposed to feminine) life prior to menopause supplies that are also quite expensive: birth control, tampons, sanitary pads, and ibuprophen.
**Waxing. Shaping garments. Heels. Tweezing. Certain hairstyles. They all hurt.
***Please note, it's not the feminists who are pissing me off (I generally don't piss myself off, and as a feminist, if uneducated in the theory myself, I'm aware that other feminists are just pointing out the way the world currently is. However, I want more than awareness of the problem. I want a solution that doesn't involve me taking on the social role of a pariah or really eccentric person with whom no-one interacts.
Screwed Up Schedule
My life has taken a turn toward chaos since I switched my work schedule to starting an hour earlier than before to accommodate the Saintly Babysitter's New-And-Totally-Screwed-Up-English-As A Second-Language-Course Schedule. I've somehow lost an hour a night. I'm not sure how that happened, but I am most definitely not an early morning person. Tonight for the first time in a week I have time to myself in the evening.
It's a miracle. No, the miracle is that Jerry Falwell is dead. Yes, that's mean of me. But he was a mean, unpleasant man. I hope he has the hereafter he deserves.
It's a miracle. No, the miracle is that Jerry Falwell is dead. Yes, that's mean of me. But he was a mean, unpleasant man. I hope he has the hereafter he deserves.
May 10, 2007
Today In History (Again! Drats!; OR: Forty-Six)
Well, I'm a pretty young forty-six. I have a two-year old after all. And as SNV says, it seems like DestructoGirl has been two for a long, long time. And she has.
For presents, I have so far received the Deluxe Librarian Action Figure with 'infamous “amazing shushing action!”' (from Innana, natch) as well as several checks from family and friends. Aunt Elsebet sent me a check that will enable me to afford to send TigerGrrl to a two-week summer day camp (either swimming or tennis, not decided yet). I also got another check with means that I can go out to dinner with Innana tonight (or go to see After the Wedding, a great Danish movie that FoilMormor highly recommends) and not have to mooch off of MVBFITWWW one more time (she already treated me to a meal at the Silver Diner this weekend, where I noted that they had catfish on the menu, for Cookie's next visit). I got DVDs from Cookie (Good Night Gorilla and Good Night Moon, perfect for getting a recalcitrant DestructoGirl to bed, and TigerGrrl snuggles up with her little sister while they watch these fine cinematic works -- it's very sweet). I also have a gift card from Francesca for an Aveda spa visit. I was going to get facial, but I'm thinking I might save it for a soignee haircut. Or maybe a massage.
I'm getting taken to lunch by coworkers today, and am generally in a good mood. Of course, I still have a big financial hole to climb out of, but I'm gradually getting there. And I have a Deluxe Librarian Action Figure. Life is good.
Edited to add: and my statcounter visit count topped 50,000 today (it's a very different count from the sitemeter count, but who cares! 50,000! Whoohoo!). Life is good and today is a good day.
For presents, I have so far received the Deluxe Librarian Action Figure with 'infamous “amazing shushing action!”' (from Innana, natch) as well as several checks from family and friends. Aunt Elsebet sent me a check that will enable me to afford to send TigerGrrl to a two-week summer day camp (either swimming or tennis, not decided yet). I also got another check with means that I can go out to dinner with Innana tonight (or go to see After the Wedding, a great Danish movie that FoilMormor highly recommends) and not have to mooch off of MVBFITWWW one more time (she already treated me to a meal at the Silver Diner this weekend, where I noted that they had catfish on the menu, for Cookie's next visit). I got DVDs from Cookie (Good Night Gorilla and Good Night Moon, perfect for getting a recalcitrant DestructoGirl to bed, and TigerGrrl snuggles up with her little sister while they watch these fine cinematic works -- it's very sweet). I also have a gift card from Francesca for an Aveda spa visit. I was going to get facial, but I'm thinking I might save it for a soignee haircut. Or maybe a massage.
I'm getting taken to lunch by coworkers today, and am generally in a good mood. Of course, I still have a big financial hole to climb out of, but I'm gradually getting there. And I have a Deluxe Librarian Action Figure. Life is good.
Edited to add: and my statcounter visit count topped 50,000 today (it's a very different count from the sitemeter count, but who cares! 50,000! Whoohoo!). Life is good and today is a good day.
May 9, 2007
I Should Be Deeply Concerned (But I'm Not)
Why should I be concerned? Well, it seems TigerGrrl is a chip off the old block. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Etc., etc.
My seven-year old has started writing in a diary. Which I am forbidden to read. Except she left it open, on the kitchen counter. I'm a bad mother. I read the whole, deeply personal entry for today, and my primary worry is her spelling. Also, twenty years from now she will be writing a blog or the 2020s equivalent. Imagine my mortification.
My seven-year old has started writing in a diary. Which I am forbidden to read. Except she left it open, on the kitchen counter. I'm a bad mother. I read the whole, deeply personal entry for today, and my primary worry is her spelling. Also, twenty years from now she will be writing a blog or the 2020s equivalent. Imagine my mortification.
May 6, 2007
Most Happy Foilwoman
Really. I started this day off in a rather blue mood (see the previous post if you have any doubts about that), but have had a pretty good day, which I will bore you to death with shortly (should you be so foolish as to stick around and read more, which you are well-advised not to do -- go read the magazine section of the New York Times or the New York Review of Books or Remembrance of Things Past or Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter, all of which will serve you better).
However, the goodliness of this day, and it's a damn good day, by the way, was settled for once and for all by a look at the Sitemeter list of recent visitors for today. In the last one hundred visitors, I have had visitors from every continent and GREENLAND. I've been wanting a visitor from Greenland for quite some time now. Since about April of 2005, if you really want to know. I've had visitors from Iceland, but no-one from Greenland. But lookie here:
Greenland girl or guy: shoot me an email at foilwoman at gmail dot com. What the heck brought you to my site? Hello and welcome. Hvordan har dig det? (I'm assuming, as arguably under Danish governance that you have some familiarity with that language of potatoes.) I've been wanting a Greenland hit on my map for quite some time. Thank you.
Why else was it a great day? Well, it still is, and I'm going to go sit out on my little tiny patio and do some good knitting while the sun still shines. The goodness was just the stuff of a good day: I mended some of TigerGrrl's ever-frequently torn trousers, did some good knitting, used a coupon for some nice wine with a birthday check from the generous and lovely Aunt Elsebet, saw Innana yesterday and have plans to see her on my actual birthday, and cooked a nice Danish-style Weinerschnitzel for dinner. And I'm drinking a good white wine* that went well with the veal that cost less that $6 for the bottle.
*A 2006 Hugues Beaulieu Couteaux du Languedoc Picpoul de Pinet.
However, the goodliness of this day, and it's a damn good day, by the way, was settled for once and for all by a look at the Sitemeter list of recent visitors for today. In the last one hundred visitors, I have had visitors from every continent and GREENLAND. I've been wanting a visitor from Greenland for quite some time now. Since about April of 2005, if you really want to know. I've had visitors from Iceland, but no-one from Greenland. But lookie here:
Domain Name greennet.gl ? (Greenland)This was visitor number 34,770 on the Sitemeter count, which varies by factor of more than 10,000 from the Stat Counter count, but I don't ponder those mysteries. I'm just tickled pink.
IP Address 194.177.245.# (Tele Greenland Inc.)
ISP Tele Greenland Inc.
Location Continent : North America
Country : Greenland (Facts)
State/Region : Nordgronland
City : Kangerlussuaq
Lat/Long : 77.3775, -67.0819 (Map)
Greenland girl or guy: shoot me an email at foilwoman at gmail dot com. What the heck brought you to my site? Hello and welcome. Hvordan har dig det? (I'm assuming, as arguably under Danish governance that you have some familiarity with that language of potatoes.) I've been wanting a Greenland hit on my map for quite some time. Thank you.
Why else was it a great day? Well, it still is, and I'm going to go sit out on my little tiny patio and do some good knitting while the sun still shines. The goodness was just the stuff of a good day: I mended some of TigerGrrl's ever-frequently torn trousers, did some good knitting, used a coupon for some nice wine with a birthday check from the generous and lovely Aunt Elsebet, saw Innana yesterday and have plans to see her on my actual birthday, and cooked a nice Danish-style Weinerschnitzel for dinner. And I'm drinking a good white wine* that went well with the veal that cost less that $6 for the bottle.
*A 2006 Hugues Beaulieu Couteaux du Languedoc Picpoul de Pinet.
May 5, 2007
Navel Gazing Again
More inappropriate personal revelation I'm sure, but it's not in the flesh, so I can justify it.
Right now, I'm hopelessly insecure. I'm about to turn 46, my brilliant career* is no more (although I do have a good and relatively secure job), my finances are in the toilet and will be for some time to come, I'm overweight (I still look good though), and I have no great cause or belief to work for or fight for, which bothers me a bit.
Of course, the FoilKids are my cause, and that's enough, but still.
I've always felt like a fraud, like people would simply clue in sooner or later that I wasn't as smart as I pretended.
Now, what is there to do? The last two years have been a struggle for my own emotional survival. The divorce is over, the girls are doing pretty well, and I'm not a basket case. Now it's going to be a long slow slog. Pulling myself out of the financial deep end, planning for the girls' future, rebuilding my life so that I can take professional pride and satisfaction in my accomplishments. Nothing impossible or unheard or, just not some superhuman feat.
I'm better at the superhuman feats. Aside from motherhood (which I think I'm pretty good at, short- or long-haul), I'm a sprinter, not a long slow distance kind of runner. And life is a marathon, not a sprint. Somehow, over the next eon of exhuasting single-parenthood-of-young-children years, I need to find some way to feed my own ego and rebuild my confidence.
I also definitely need more opposite-sex action. I really don't have the energy for a relationship right now, but I need to do something.
So, for my 47th year, soon to start, my goals are to:
(1) Recover my financial equilibrium -- get more money coming in, or figure out how to cut costs even further or something. I'm in a negative cash flow situation right now, and that can't continue.
(2) Do something creative for which I get some acknowledgement. I envy Innana her work in theater, but that is not my avenue (I would have long since strangled a few artistic tender flowers in her theatrical troupe if I had been involved with it).
(3) Get more exercise. I'm walking two miles a day three or four days a week, but I need to step up with the biking and the hiking and the swimming.
(4) Play my guitar more. I'm not doing it, and I'm missing it.
(5) Accept my own limitations regarding human relations: I like company, but I need lots of downtime to restore. Thus adding people to my circle is hard. It's hard anyway, as one ages. Meeting and incorporating new people into one's life is not easy after age 35 or so. We're just so busy and our lives aren't as malleable. And we're all set in our ways. In some ways, I feel like I never have time to mysel, and in other ways I feel profoundly lonely, and I think that's just sort of the way I am wired. I'm not going to be running around feeling gleeful much of the time. I'm going to enjoy the beautiful in this world, but always wonder if there's some reason I'm not part of one group or another.
That's the real issue. I've never been a joiner. I've never identified myself by a group of friends, a social club, a profession or some other group identity. I'm just not oriented that way. My friends are not a coherent group who flow in and out of each other's lives. Instead, my circle is rather random: people I met at various times who I was drawn to or who were drawn to me**, mostly people I was drawn to. It's not based on mututal beliefs or interests, rather it's a group of people who I have liked, loved, believed are good and are kind, or generally just admire. Me believing that isn't supercohesive glue.
I've always wished I could be a member of a group or club that would define me (say a graduate of a certain college, a member of the Junior League or a sorority -- not really, just using that as an example, or some other thing of that nature. But even when I do join groups, that is not how I define myself or see myself. I look askance at people who thirty years after college still see themselves first and foremost as a graduate of whatever school. I always think: did you stop then? What about since?
I am a graduate of certain schools, and I do have friends from those places, but that is not all I am. That is even not primarily who I am. Nor is my erstwhile or present profession, nor any other feature.
So I guess that's the real question I ask myself. Aside from a loving and devoted mother, who am I and who do I want to be? Maybe I'll figure it out someday.
*I loved that movie, btw.
**I'll be very honest in that most of my friendships, I believe that I have made more of the effort to start and maintain the friendship, with the exception of Innana and possibly Francesca.
Right now, I'm hopelessly insecure. I'm about to turn 46, my brilliant career* is no more (although I do have a good and relatively secure job), my finances are in the toilet and will be for some time to come, I'm overweight (I still look good though), and I have no great cause or belief to work for or fight for, which bothers me a bit.
Of course, the FoilKids are my cause, and that's enough, but still.
I've always felt like a fraud, like people would simply clue in sooner or later that I wasn't as smart as I pretended.
Now, what is there to do? The last two years have been a struggle for my own emotional survival. The divorce is over, the girls are doing pretty well, and I'm not a basket case. Now it's going to be a long slow slog. Pulling myself out of the financial deep end, planning for the girls' future, rebuilding my life so that I can take professional pride and satisfaction in my accomplishments. Nothing impossible or unheard or, just not some superhuman feat.
I'm better at the superhuman feats. Aside from motherhood (which I think I'm pretty good at, short- or long-haul), I'm a sprinter, not a long slow distance kind of runner. And life is a marathon, not a sprint. Somehow, over the next eon of exhuasting single-parenthood-of-young-children years, I need to find some way to feed my own ego and rebuild my confidence.
I also definitely need more opposite-sex action. I really don't have the energy for a relationship right now, but I need to do something.
So, for my 47th year, soon to start, my goals are to:
(1) Recover my financial equilibrium -- get more money coming in, or figure out how to cut costs even further or something. I'm in a negative cash flow situation right now, and that can't continue.
(2) Do something creative for which I get some acknowledgement. I envy Innana her work in theater, but that is not my avenue (I would have long since strangled a few artistic tender flowers in her theatrical troupe if I had been involved with it).
(3) Get more exercise. I'm walking two miles a day three or four days a week, but I need to step up with the biking and the hiking and the swimming.
(4) Play my guitar more. I'm not doing it, and I'm missing it.
(5) Accept my own limitations regarding human relations: I like company, but I need lots of downtime to restore. Thus adding people to my circle is hard. It's hard anyway, as one ages. Meeting and incorporating new people into one's life is not easy after age 35 or so. We're just so busy and our lives aren't as malleable. And we're all set in our ways. In some ways, I feel like I never have time to mysel, and in other ways I feel profoundly lonely, and I think that's just sort of the way I am wired. I'm not going to be running around feeling gleeful much of the time. I'm going to enjoy the beautiful in this world, but always wonder if there's some reason I'm not part of one group or another.
That's the real issue. I've never been a joiner. I've never identified myself by a group of friends, a social club, a profession or some other group identity. I'm just not oriented that way. My friends are not a coherent group who flow in and out of each other's lives. Instead, my circle is rather random: people I met at various times who I was drawn to or who were drawn to me**, mostly people I was drawn to. It's not based on mututal beliefs or interests, rather it's a group of people who I have liked, loved, believed are good and are kind, or generally just admire. Me believing that isn't supercohesive glue.
I've always wished I could be a member of a group or club that would define me (say a graduate of a certain college, a member of the Junior League or a sorority -- not really, just using that as an example, or some other thing of that nature. But even when I do join groups, that is not how I define myself or see myself. I look askance at people who thirty years after college still see themselves first and foremost as a graduate of whatever school. I always think: did you stop then? What about since?
I am a graduate of certain schools, and I do have friends from those places, but that is not all I am. That is even not primarily who I am. Nor is my erstwhile or present profession, nor any other feature.
So I guess that's the real question I ask myself. Aside from a loving and devoted mother, who am I and who do I want to be? Maybe I'll figure it out someday.
*I loved that movie, btw.
**I'll be very honest in that most of my friendships, I believe that I have made more of the effort to start and maintain the friendship, with the exception of Innana and possibly Francesca.
May 3, 2007
He Reminds Every Woman of Her First Husband
Of course, I am writing about Our Fearless Leader, Dubya. I think Molly Ivins coined the phrase from which I plagiarize my title for today. Let me just count the ways in which I despise the President of the United States. No longer the leader of the free world, because, let's be honest, the United States hasn't been a leader in the freedom area for quite some time.
The Constitution? A piece of paper. The Bill of Rights? Except for the Second Amendment, less than toilet paper. Cruel and unusual punishment? Nothing fits that category anymore. The Geneva Convention? Nobody actually expects those silly little compacts to apply to us, do they? Women's rights to bodily integity? Say wha?
And the sad thing is, Dubya does remind me of my first and only husband (but now my ex). They both have the same difficulty with the reality based community (mainly me, for the Insane Ex). Reality is such a personal thing for them.
What triggered this? Listening to NPR and hearing Dubya say that we needed to keep up the war in Iraq because Al-Qaeda is a risk there. Well, it wasn't on September 10, 2001 (or September 11 or September 12). Al Qaeda had no presence in Iraq, and if it does now, it's only because of Dubya's Dumb Detour of Devastation in the once Fertile Crescent. Mess-o-potamia indeed.
The Constitution? A piece of paper. The Bill of Rights? Except for the Second Amendment, less than toilet paper. Cruel and unusual punishment? Nothing fits that category anymore. The Geneva Convention? Nobody actually expects those silly little compacts to apply to us, do they? Women's rights to bodily integity? Say wha?
And the sad thing is, Dubya does remind me of my first and only husband (but now my ex). They both have the same difficulty with the reality based community (mainly me, for the Insane Ex). Reality is such a personal thing for them.
What triggered this? Listening to NPR and hearing Dubya say that we needed to keep up the war in Iraq because Al-Qaeda is a risk there. Well, it wasn't on September 10, 2001 (or September 11 or September 12). Al Qaeda had no presence in Iraq, and if it does now, it's only because of Dubya's Dumb Detour of Devastation in the once Fertile Crescent. Mess-o-potamia indeed.
More Ego Gratification (Thanks, Jenn!)
I'm insecure enough that any praise makes me very, very happy. Jenn of the Belletristic Cat gave me another Thinking Blogger Award. This makes me very happy. Thank you. I'm very flattered.
May 2, 2007
Familial Relations
I sat outside in a little piazza knitting (big surprise there). Of course, a man sat rather nearby, but I really hadn't noticed him. (This isn't going where you think it is going, so get your mind out of the gutter now.) Just as I started on a fairly complicated series of stitches. He placed a call to an ex, whether ex-wife I don't know, but definitely the mother of his child.
Apparently this man had called his child the other day (Holy Alec Baldwin), and upon calling his exes house was shocked and appalled to hear another man answer the phone. PhoneCallingMan asked for his daughter by name. ManOfTheHouse asked "Who are you?"* PhoneCallingMan then asked "Who is this?" And ManOfTheHouse answered: "I'm the man of the house. Who are you?"
PhoneCallingMan: "I'm [daughter]'s father."
I don't know how this got resolved then, but the cellphone call to which I was an unwilling eavesdropper then took a turn for the worse.
Remember, identify yourself on the phone. It makes life easier.
*I was always raised to say "Hello, this is Foilwoman. May I please speak to [whoever I'm trying to reach]." Apparently, a lot of people now call on the phone and let you guess.
Apparently this man had called his child the other day (Holy Alec Baldwin), and upon calling his exes house was shocked and appalled to hear another man answer the phone. PhoneCallingMan asked for his daughter by name. ManOfTheHouse asked "Who are you?"* PhoneCallingMan then asked "Who is this?" And ManOfTheHouse answered: "I'm the man of the house. Who are you?"
PhoneCallingMan: "I'm [daughter]'s father."
I don't know how this got resolved then, but the cellphone call to which I was an unwilling eavesdropper then took a turn for the worse.
Remember, identify yourself on the phone. It makes life easier.
*I was always raised to say "Hello, this is Foilwoman. May I please speak to [whoever I'm trying to reach]." Apparently, a lot of people now call on the phone and let you guess.
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