At ChezFoilMormor (the summer ChezFoilMormor*, up in what would be God's Country if there were a deity), I will have limited internet access, so I probably won't post for the next week and a half or so. Maybe I will, but nothing's happened to me except a New England vacation by the ocean with swimming, lobster eating, horseback riding (for TigerGrrl -- she's excited), visiting, and generally relaxing and enjoying life. The chances of me being indoors and on the internet, even if access is easy and convenient? Not good.
Meanwhile, our plane (DestructoGirl's first plane ride -- should we notify the TSA? The FAA? Homeland Security? Anyway, anyone flying from DC to New England today, you've been warned, brace yourselves.) leaves after noon, and the girls are still sleeping. I'm packed, I've taken out the trash, Saintly Babysitter has left on her much deserved and needed vacation, and I'm having some unheard of quiet morning time.
Sometime this week my voice will return. SPOILER ALERT
TigerGrrl and I are on page 523 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows**. Only 236 pages to go. Harry has just buried Dobby, to copious tears from TigerGrrl. She is very pleased that Dobby's headstone reads that "Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf". That's very important.
It's a beautiful day, and I'm going to see my mother, the Second Mate my NSLOS, Francesca, Francesca's lovely mother, NuclearGrammy, my cousin (Aunt Elsebet's daughter) and her two lovely daughters, and probably others. I'll see an opera (The Barber of Seville) that won't be first rate, but it will be enjoyable. I'll eat lobster once, I'll go out to eat, I'll see TigerGrrl ride her first horse (she's been on ponies before, but not a real horseback ride), and will generally just be happy. Life is good.
When I return to work, there's probably an employee I'm going to have to fire (Bartleby), but that will wait. Ms. Bossy is in control and not worried. PiousMan says he'll miss me. I'm sure he will. I'm going to miss Innana, and I will be happy to see PiousMan again when I return, but I don't have a lot of extra room in my life to fit in missing another person.
I spoke to the Professor earlier this week and we agreed that six months without a get together is too long, so he and I have to get together. I so like him. An intelligent man who isn't always trying to show you he's intelligent is a wonderful thing.
DestructoGirl just woke up. Hasta la vista o la proxima o whatever. Bye for now.
*Yes, she's one of those retirees.
**She's been at her dad's for the last two nights or we'd be done
July 28, 2007
July 26, 2007
Agnosticism and Shameless Plagiarism (Not That There's a Connection)
Jewish Atheist, bless his god-denying heart, borrowed a great meme from the Friendly Atheist. Of course, being completely lacking in creativity or scruples, I decided to borrow that meme, to pay an homage, if you will, to them. That means I'm plagiarizing shamelessly of course. Not as shamelessly as Ian McEwan mind you (I'm crediting the people whose ideas I am borrowing), but nonetheless, this idea is not mine.
Agnostic's* Questionnaire
Why do you not believe in God? I don't believe or disbelieve, but I tend toward non-belief, because if there is a god and anything any of the world's main religions have done or said has any connection to that psychotic creature, we're really, really doomed.
Where do your morals come from?
The golden rule, my parents, observing consideration and inconsideration in others.
What is the meaning of life? Since you probably haven't met TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl, you are forgiven for thinking that question is unanswerable or a mystery. It's to prepare the world for it's future rulers, my offspring.
Is atheism a religion? To paraphrase His Eminence, Benedict XVI (madder and badder than the fifteenth), if atheism is a religion, not playing chess is a hobby.
If you don’t pray, what do you do during troubling times? Write, drink a glass of wine, take a walk, confront a bully, eat chocolate, cook chocolate, read a book, read a book to my girls, snuggle with my girls, cuddle and more with an available guy**
Should atheists be trying to convince others to stop believing in God? I'll settle for agnostics convincing people willing to kill for their beliefs (all too many, even now) that there is the possibility of doubt and behading, stoning, shooting, bombing, burning, or murder of any sort is really rather not allowing for that doubt and really does make the religion look rather bad.
Weren’t some of the worst atrocities in the 20th century committed by atheists? Only by truly tortured logic. Stalin and Hitler both had nice religious upbringings, and used religion (Hitler used Christianity in particular to advance his agenda) to advance their goals. Whenever and atrocity is committed by a devout believer of any stripe, everyone steps ups saying "Oh, that wasn't really Christianity/Islam/Judaism/whatever" as an excuse. People have great evil within them, and will do evil in the name of god, no god, communism, capitalism, democracy, whatever. It's what we do. It's a trait of which we should be more sceptical.
How could billions of people be wrong when it comes to belief in God?
Why does the universe exist?
So that I can knit sweaters, drink Shiraz, cuddle the FoilKids, and make fun of assholes on the Metro.
How did life originate? Well, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much, or sometimes, when they just have an itch they want to scratch . . . Oh, never mind. Ask Stephen Hawkings. But I'll go with Darwin rather that Deuteronomy. Any day.
Is all religion harmful? No, but one should be very careful. Somebody, at one point in time, convinced people that widows should throw themselves on a their dead husband's funeral pyre in the name of religion, convinced people that Jews made matzoh from the bones/blood/whatever of gentile children, convinced people that a woman who had sex outside of marriage should be killed, all in the name of religion. I think we can agree (I hope: If you don't agree, go away, and certainly please don't have sex because we don't want you to breed, well, I don't, anyway) that these were bad ideas. Also bad ideas: child sacrifice, untouchables (and the caste system in general), the shamefulness of female sexuality in most patriarchal religions, the misogyny of most patriarchal religions, religion interfering with science (Galileo -- I'll say no more: Catholic Church 0, Science 1), any religion that says it's group are the real people and everyone else isn't, I'll stop here, but I could go on. Cotton Mather, the Spanish Inquisition, pretty much everything Calvin ever did or said, the Thirty Years War, Jim Jones, Heaven's Gate, Scientology.
What’s so bad about religious moderates? They never really are moderate. Religious liberals (think Freedom Riders, Unitarians, and Quakers) I actually like, even if they are all too touchy feely, sing kum bah yah and wear annoying batik clothing.
Is there anything redeeming about religion? Anything that makes life easier for people can't be dismissed entirely. Anything that gave us African American spirituals has some redeeming features. Also Schubert's Ave Maria, Mozart's Kyria, the writing of C.S. Lewis and Paul Tillich, Handel's Messiah, and some of the best mediaeval and Renaissance art and architecture on the planet.
What if you’re wrong about God (and He does exist)? I've been wrong before. If there's a god who punishes people for errors in belief, well, I'll be glad to be elsewhere, especially on the evidence available.
Shouldn’t all religious beliefs be respected? No. I do not think blood sacrifices and religions that have scapegoat classes or untouchables are even remotely acceptable. The treatment of women in many religions is horrible and defended on the basis of religious tolerance. So no. When religion is evil (and it often can be) it should not be respected or tolerated.
Are atheists smarter than theists? In general, yes. The ability to ask questions develops the brain. Also, see Jewish Atheist's response. I'll take someone's logic over dogma anyday.
How do you deal with the historical Jesus if you don’t believe in his divinity? He may have existed. So did Queen Marie of Romania. It isn't really a big issue in my day to day life, you know. If he wants to make good wine*** out of the water in my bathtub, hey, big holy dude, go to town. Otherwise, who knows who he really was or what he was like. Herodotus is more reliable than the Bible (and he wasn't reliable).
Would the world be better off without any religion? In general, yes. Ethics can be taught apart from religion. As can social responsibility. A sense of community that doesn't exclude and isolate is probably a Utopian fantasy, but that seems more achievable without religion than with it.
What happens when we die? I guess we'll all find out sooner or later or we'll cease to exist and won't care. There's really no way to know, and anyone who says otherwise will be addressed by me as Mr. Gantry, Mr. Swaggert, Mr. Bakker, or Ms. McPherson.
*Orginially "Atheist's"
**Right now, the illustrious PiousMan, inspiring all these religious posts, but really, its a pretty fungible role.
Agnostic's* Questionnaire
Why do you not believe in God? I don't believe or disbelieve, but I tend toward non-belief, because if there is a god and anything any of the world's main religions have done or said has any connection to that psychotic creature, we're really, really doomed.
Where do your morals come from?
The golden rule, my parents, observing consideration and inconsideration in others.
What is the meaning of life? Since you probably haven't met TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl, you are forgiven for thinking that question is unanswerable or a mystery. It's to prepare the world for it's future rulers, my offspring.
Is atheism a religion? To paraphrase His Eminence, Benedict XVI (madder and badder than the fifteenth), if atheism is a religion, not playing chess is a hobby.
If you don’t pray, what do you do during troubling times? Write, drink a glass of wine, take a walk, confront a bully, eat chocolate, cook chocolate, read a book, read a book to my girls, snuggle with my girls, cuddle and more with an available guy**
Should atheists be trying to convince others to stop believing in God? I'll settle for agnostics convincing people willing to kill for their beliefs (all too many, even now) that there is the possibility of doubt and behading, stoning, shooting, bombing, burning, or murder of any sort is really rather not allowing for that doubt and really does make the religion look rather bad.
Weren’t some of the worst atrocities in the 20th century committed by atheists? Only by truly tortured logic. Stalin and Hitler both had nice religious upbringings, and used religion (Hitler used Christianity in particular to advance his agenda) to advance their goals. Whenever and atrocity is committed by a devout believer of any stripe, everyone steps ups saying "Oh, that wasn't really Christianity/Islam/Judaism/whatever" as an excuse. People have great evil within them, and will do evil in the name of god, no god, communism, capitalism, democracy, whatever. It's what we do. It's a trait of which we should be more sceptical.
How could billions of people be wrong when it comes to belief in God?
Why does the universe exist?
So that I can knit sweaters, drink Shiraz, cuddle the FoilKids, and make fun of assholes on the Metro.
How did life originate? Well, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much, or sometimes, when they just have an itch they want to scratch . . . Oh, never mind. Ask Stephen Hawkings. But I'll go with Darwin rather that Deuteronomy. Any day.
Is all religion harmful? No, but one should be very careful. Somebody, at one point in time, convinced people that widows should throw themselves on a their dead husband's funeral pyre in the name of religion, convinced people that Jews made matzoh from the bones/blood/whatever of gentile children, convinced people that a woman who had sex outside of marriage should be killed, all in the name of religion. I think we can agree (I hope: If you don't agree, go away, and certainly please don't have sex because we don't want you to breed, well, I don't, anyway) that these were bad ideas. Also bad ideas: child sacrifice, untouchables (and the caste system in general), the shamefulness of female sexuality in most patriarchal religions, the misogyny of most patriarchal religions, religion interfering with science (Galileo -- I'll say no more: Catholic Church 0, Science 1), any religion that says it's group are the real people and everyone else isn't, I'll stop here, but I could go on. Cotton Mather, the Spanish Inquisition, pretty much everything Calvin ever did or said, the Thirty Years War, Jim Jones, Heaven's Gate, Scientology.
What’s so bad about religious moderates? They never really are moderate. Religious liberals (think Freedom Riders, Unitarians, and Quakers) I actually like, even if they are all too touchy feely, sing kum bah yah and wear annoying batik clothing.
Is there anything redeeming about religion? Anything that makes life easier for people can't be dismissed entirely. Anything that gave us African American spirituals has some redeeming features. Also Schubert's Ave Maria, Mozart's Kyria, the writing of C.S. Lewis and Paul Tillich, Handel's Messiah, and some of the best mediaeval and Renaissance art and architecture on the planet.
What if you’re wrong about God (and He does exist)? I've been wrong before. If there's a god who punishes people for errors in belief, well, I'll be glad to be elsewhere, especially on the evidence available.
Shouldn’t all religious beliefs be respected? No. I do not think blood sacrifices and religions that have scapegoat classes or untouchables are even remotely acceptable. The treatment of women in many religions is horrible and defended on the basis of religious tolerance. So no. When religion is evil (and it often can be) it should not be respected or tolerated.
Are atheists smarter than theists? In general, yes. The ability to ask questions develops the brain. Also, see Jewish Atheist's response. I'll take someone's logic over dogma anyday.
How do you deal with the historical Jesus if you don’t believe in his divinity? He may have existed. So did Queen Marie of Romania. It isn't really a big issue in my day to day life, you know. If he wants to make good wine*** out of the water in my bathtub, hey, big holy dude, go to town. Otherwise, who knows who he really was or what he was like. Herodotus is more reliable than the Bible (and he wasn't reliable).
Would the world be better off without any religion? In general, yes. Ethics can be taught apart from religion. As can social responsibility. A sense of community that doesn't exclude and isolate is probably a Utopian fantasy, but that seems more achievable without religion than with it.
What happens when we die? I guess we'll all find out sooner or later or we'll cease to exist and won't care. There's really no way to know, and anyone who says otherwise will be addressed by me as Mr. Gantry, Mr. Swaggert, Mr. Bakker, or Ms. McPherson.
*Orginially "Atheist's"
**Right now, the illustrious PiousMan, inspiring all these religious posts, but really, its a pretty fungible role.
July 25, 2007
Reading Again
I've actually read some literature or close enough that I'm not embarrassed to write about my reading. That sounds more intellectual that it was. I re-read two books I like and haven't read in twenty years (first book) and ten years (second book). But I'm pleased as in the midst of the divorce, I had neither the concentration or energy to focus on any substantive work of literature.
The books are: Til We Have Faces, by C.S. Lewis, a retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, and Paradise News, by David Lodge, which is my favorite David Lodge book, and now I remember why.
Of course, it's only now as I begin to write about these books that it occurs to me that I checked out two books with strong religious themes from the library. PiousMan must be having an influence (but he's neither Catholic nor Anglican). Nonetheless, both books, one a look at love, personal responsibility, loss, and the idea of love as a destructive, creative, and redemptive force, and the other (Paradise News) more specifically about the strictures of religion and the redemptive power of love are wonderful books and they are religious.
Of course, most of this week has been dedicated to reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows aloud to TigerGrrl. We're on page 446. I've read all those pages aloud, mind you. I'll be speaking in a whisper for the next week or so most likely. But a septet of books that are primarily about the protective and overarching power of a mother's love (What sets Harry apart and above anyway? His mother's dying protection.) is not a work one is going to refuse to read to one's child.
The books are: Til We Have Faces, by C.S. Lewis, a retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, and Paradise News, by David Lodge, which is my favorite David Lodge book, and now I remember why.
Of course, it's only now as I begin to write about these books that it occurs to me that I checked out two books with strong religious themes from the library. PiousMan must be having an influence (but he's neither Catholic nor Anglican). Nonetheless, both books, one a look at love, personal responsibility, loss, and the idea of love as a destructive, creative, and redemptive force, and the other (Paradise News) more specifically about the strictures of religion and the redemptive power of love are wonderful books and they are religious.
Of course, most of this week has been dedicated to reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows aloud to TigerGrrl. We're on page 446. I've read all those pages aloud, mind you. I'll be speaking in a whisper for the next week or so most likely. But a septet of books that are primarily about the protective and overarching power of a mother's love (What sets Harry apart and above anyway? His mother's dying protection.) is not a work one is going to refuse to read to one's child.
July 23, 2007
I Don't Really Feel Comfortable Writing About My Life Right Now
And who would want to read about it anyway. PiousMan and I are still seeing each other (two weeks -- who'da thunk we had -- well, I had -- such staying power). No details, but really, I feel guilty even going out with this man. I'm such a corrupting influence.
Meanwhile, Bioman (see here) has informed me that he is contemplating becoming some sort of Buddhist monk or priest. I thought one was generally free from religious weirdness if one was scientifically inclined, but clearly that stereotype is inaccurate. I murmured empathetically while thinking "why are you telling me this"? I had not called him to reschedule our postponed second date, had gone out with PiousMan, and have been out with PiousMan several times and brought the first phase of OGL to a reasonably happy climax or two and am planning to rinse and repeat a few times. I hadn't felt the need to inform BioMan of this development because, hey, one drink does not an obligation make.
So here comes BioMan, more than two weeks after the first date calling to inform me he has religious complications. I'm not sure if Buddhist monks or priests are celibate, but eish. This is definitely a TMI situation. One date does not mean I need to hear about all your mid-life crisis doubts or confusions, particularly regarding the meaning of life.
I don't assume that we are only allowed to contemplate the meaning of life during adolescence, but a fifty-year old man contemplating the priesthood of any religion does give me some pause.
Nonetheless, here I am, agnostic (at best) getting moderately involved with a very religious man. I've already told him the following:
(1) Whatever the dogma is, I don't believe it.
(2) Just because a book is old, doesn't mean it's true and/or good.
(3) I generally think ancient religions, particularly the patriarchal ones, that rate human worth by the condition of one's genitalia (virgin/non-virgin for women, circumcised/uncircumcised for women or men) really don't do a whole heck of a lot for me and the heck of a lot these religions have done for most women throughout history has been pretty uniformly bad, limiting, and shame-producing.
(4) I really believe the preceding statement, and have lived my life, in the last few years trying to be a good person and have still sought sexual freedom and satisfaction.
(5) I doubt I will ever "fall in love" or want to do so.
(6) I'm not squeamish, and I am profane, much of the time.
But people see what they want to see. I think I'm liberating for PiousMan (I don't think any of the women in his Bible study group have ever responded to a woman asking whether a man will ever make a move and how she can get a man to make a move with this FoilQuote: "Have you tried getting him drunk and jumping him?" or given him the annotated version of Whitney Houston's How Will I Know? ("You won't, you nitwit"). Maybe he's lucky, and Laurita is there, but they are actually in different religions, and PiousMan's is pretty restrictive.
I give it three months, which I will enjoy.
Oh, and nothing exciting, annoying, interesting, or evening non-soporific has happened on the subway in the past few days.
Meanwhile, Bioman (see here) has informed me that he is contemplating becoming some sort of Buddhist monk or priest. I thought one was generally free from religious weirdness if one was scientifically inclined, but clearly that stereotype is inaccurate. I murmured empathetically while thinking "why are you telling me this"? I had not called him to reschedule our postponed second date, had gone out with PiousMan, and have been out with PiousMan several times and brought the first phase of OGL to a reasonably happy climax or two and am planning to rinse and repeat a few times. I hadn't felt the need to inform BioMan of this development because, hey, one drink does not an obligation make.
So here comes BioMan, more than two weeks after the first date calling to inform me he has religious complications. I'm not sure if Buddhist monks or priests are celibate, but eish. This is definitely a TMI situation. One date does not mean I need to hear about all your mid-life crisis doubts or confusions, particularly regarding the meaning of life.
I don't assume that we are only allowed to contemplate the meaning of life during adolescence, but a fifty-year old man contemplating the priesthood of any religion does give me some pause.
Nonetheless, here I am, agnostic (at best) getting moderately involved with a very religious man. I've already told him the following:
(1) Whatever the dogma is, I don't believe it.
(2) Just because a book is old, doesn't mean it's true and/or good.
(3) I generally think ancient religions, particularly the patriarchal ones, that rate human worth by the condition of one's genitalia (virgin/non-virgin for women, circumcised/uncircumcised for women or men) really don't do a whole heck of a lot for me and the heck of a lot these religions have done for most women throughout history has been pretty uniformly bad, limiting, and shame-producing.
(4) I really believe the preceding statement, and have lived my life, in the last few years trying to be a good person and have still sought sexual freedom and satisfaction.
(5) I doubt I will ever "fall in love" or want to do so.
(6) I'm not squeamish, and I am profane, much of the time.
But people see what they want to see. I think I'm liberating for PiousMan (I don't think any of the women in his Bible study group have ever responded to a woman asking whether a man will ever make a move and how she can get a man to make a move with this FoilQuote: "Have you tried getting him drunk and jumping him?" or given him the annotated version of Whitney Houston's How Will I Know? ("You won't, you nitwit"). Maybe he's lucky, and Laurita is there, but they are actually in different religions, and PiousMan's is pretty restrictive.
I give it three months, which I will enjoy.
Oh, and nothing exciting, annoying, interesting, or evening non-soporific has happened on the subway in the past few days.
July 19, 2007
Subway Serial
Yes, it's another "Guess what happened on Metro" edition. I actually have some kind things to say, which I'm realizing is an increasing rarity, and a situation I need to change. Of course, I also have some criticisms (why would anyone doubt that), but my overarching feeling upon reviewing events of the last week or so is one of charity with the teeming hordes who share my commute.
Okay, first, criticism to the none-too-bright con artist who gets on at the same stop at the same time every day and asks for money to exit the Metro at a later stop. Someone always gives him something and then, instead of staying on until the stop in question, he gets off. I've seen him three times in four weeks, and the third time I asked him why this kept happening. He seemed surprised, and, of course, got off the train.
I really don't get to hot under the collar about subway panhandlers, although it's not permitted, but to be aggressive, repetitive, and stupid, well, next time I'm calling the Metro police (for anyone else who wants to, I believe the phone number is (202) 962-2121).
However, I saw a really nice good deed on Metro that really cheered me up. I was sitting (knitting) on the train, and a crowd got on at the next stop. A man (middle-aged and white, but this isn't like the other story) came in briskly and sat next to me. He was very urban -- no eye contact, self-contained, reading his newspaper in that New York subway style all folded up so it doesn't touch anyone. Next a couple came on, also white and middle-aged, if that makes any difference. Somehow, Mr. Urban noticed the couple. The woman sat catty-corner from us, and the man found a seat a few seats behind. Mr. Urban spoke and asked the woman: "Are you two together? I can switch with him?" And rose, and did so.
That seems like such a little thing, but the couple were pleased -- although not in the first throes of dating (none of that pre-coital chatter that is always the mark of a couple who have yet to consummate the relationship) and probably married a while, they were a friendly couple (nice to see) and were sharing newspaper stories and the like. We all agreed we needed to notify the news media about Mr. Urban's graciousness. Then I of course, snarked: "He was just afraid of the knitting needles."
Again, it seems so little, but much of the stuff I write about when pointing the finger at another person (see here and here) is simply people not paying attention. Acting as though others don't exist, or do exist but are insignificant. Mr. Urban, who was not a chatter or a sharer, was paying attention. I like that, in a man or a woman. Someone who pays attention (and has good or kind intentions) really is someone worthwhile.
Okay, first, criticism to the none-too-bright con artist who gets on at the same stop at the same time every day and asks for money to exit the Metro at a later stop. Someone always gives him something and then, instead of staying on until the stop in question, he gets off. I've seen him three times in four weeks, and the third time I asked him why this kept happening. He seemed surprised, and, of course, got off the train.
I really don't get to hot under the collar about subway panhandlers, although it's not permitted, but to be aggressive, repetitive, and stupid, well, next time I'm calling the Metro police (for anyone else who wants to, I believe the phone number is (202) 962-2121).
However, I saw a really nice good deed on Metro that really cheered me up. I was sitting (knitting) on the train, and a crowd got on at the next stop. A man (middle-aged and white, but this isn't like the other story) came in briskly and sat next to me. He was very urban -- no eye contact, self-contained, reading his newspaper in that New York subway style all folded up so it doesn't touch anyone. Next a couple came on, also white and middle-aged, if that makes any difference. Somehow, Mr. Urban noticed the couple. The woman sat catty-corner from us, and the man found a seat a few seats behind. Mr. Urban spoke and asked the woman: "Are you two together? I can switch with him?" And rose, and did so.
That seems like such a little thing, but the couple were pleased -- although not in the first throes of dating (none of that pre-coital chatter that is always the mark of a couple who have yet to consummate the relationship) and probably married a while, they were a friendly couple (nice to see) and were sharing newspaper stories and the like. We all agreed we needed to notify the news media about Mr. Urban's graciousness. Then I of course, snarked: "He was just afraid of the knitting needles."
Again, it seems so little, but much of the stuff I write about when pointing the finger at another person (see here and here) is simply people not paying attention. Acting as though others don't exist, or do exist but are insignificant. Mr. Urban, who was not a chatter or a sharer, was paying attention. I like that, in a man or a woman. Someone who pays attention (and has good or kind intentions) really is someone worthwhile.
July 18, 2007
Mama, Say Sop
No, that's not a typo. That's DestructoGirl-speak for "Mama, say stop!" My living room is on the apartment complex's parking lot. Some moron of a neighbor has a honking car alarm that is ultra-sensitive. It went off while I was trying to put DestructoGirl to bed. Needless to say, she didn't go to bed. And the alarm kept going back on again, apparently whenever an acorn or pine cone fell on the blasted SUV.*
After the third time, I told DestructoGirl and TigerGrrl to stay put and opened the door. The SUV's owner was walking (not running) to his waking-up-an-almost-sleeping-child-and-environmentally-destructive penile augmentation system. I said, and I quote: "You may not be aware, but your neighbors, some of whom actually like to sleep, can hear that." He looked surprised** and said "Well that's how the alarm system works." "If your goal is to wake up everyone frequently rather than stop a theft, yes. But if my two-year old gets interrupted from going to bed again, theft will be the least of your worries."
The alarm has not gone off again since 9 p.m. last night. DestructoGirl keeps asking me, with a big grin, "Mama, say sop?" Hey, I'm being a good role model for her.
*Proving once again that all SUV owners or lessors are evil imps of Satan.
**He lives in an apartment complex! Is he a moron?
After the third time, I told DestructoGirl and TigerGrrl to stay put and opened the door. The SUV's owner was walking (not running) to his waking-up-an-almost-sleeping-child-and-environmentally-destructive penile augmentation system. I said, and I quote: "You may not be aware, but your neighbors, some of whom actually like to sleep, can hear that." He looked surprised** and said "Well that's how the alarm system works." "If your goal is to wake up everyone frequently rather than stop a theft, yes. But if my two-year old gets interrupted from going to bed again, theft will be the least of your worries."
The alarm has not gone off again since 9 p.m. last night. DestructoGirl keeps asking me, with a big grin, "Mama, say sop?" Hey, I'm being a good role model for her.
*Proving once again that all SUV owners or lessors are evil imps of Satan.
**He lives in an apartment complex! Is he a moron?
July 16, 2007
I Need A Vacation
Yes, I know, I just announce the successful conclusion (of the initial campaign, clearly, not the entire endeavor, or so I devoutly hope) of OGL, so what am I whining about?
Well, it's going to be 92 degrees farenheit today, and I hate the heat. People at work are irritating me enough that even with a nice JFG (if you don't like Anglo Saxon works, don't look to see what it stands for, thanks)* and a spring in my step, I'm already contemplating the smackdowns I'll give at work today. If I bump into a Bartleby-type "I prefer not to", my response will be something like this: "Do you really think anybody here gives a flying fuck what you prefer to do or not do? This is a job, you moron, not a personal fulfilment retreat. Now get up off your lazy, self-involved derriere and do what I asked you to do."
I need to be in New England. Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont, precisely. And in three weeks, that is where I, and the FoilKids, will be. On the coast of Maine with the FoilMormor and the Second Mate. In New Hampshire, visiting Nuclear Grammy (she will swim with her great-grandchildren and will be very proud of their irrepressibility -- last time, she encouraged them to play hide and seek underneath the tables in the retirement home dining hall) and Francesca and Francesca's truly delightful mother**, and possibly to Vermont to see LOS.
I love swimming in the ocean. I love swimming in New England ponds. I love fresh crisp air in the evening in the summer time.
After the New England trip***, we have a getaway to West-By-God-Virginia to see Big Bob. He has a retiree's gentlemen farm in an 18th century farmhouse, and the girls will run amok. Not like they don't ordinarily, but hey. So even after we get back from the big New England vacation, we'll have another treat on the horizon. Big Bob and his wife love Innana, so I'm hoping she'll be able to come with us, if she can stand it.
Okay, off to work to smite a few nitwits.
*Just fucked glow.
**I haven't written enough about this fine, lovely, kind woman. She is a true delight.
***Non-stop plane tickets courtesy of FoilMormor.
Well, it's going to be 92 degrees farenheit today, and I hate the heat. People at work are irritating me enough that even with a nice JFG (if you don't like Anglo Saxon works, don't look to see what it stands for, thanks)* and a spring in my step, I'm already contemplating the smackdowns I'll give at work today. If I bump into a Bartleby-type "I prefer not to", my response will be something like this: "Do you really think anybody here gives a flying fuck what you prefer to do or not do? This is a job, you moron, not a personal fulfilment retreat. Now get up off your lazy, self-involved derriere and do what I asked you to do."
I need to be in New England. Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont, precisely. And in three weeks, that is where I, and the FoilKids, will be. On the coast of Maine with the FoilMormor and the Second Mate. In New Hampshire, visiting Nuclear Grammy (she will swim with her great-grandchildren and will be very proud of their irrepressibility -- last time, she encouraged them to play hide and seek underneath the tables in the retirement home dining hall) and Francesca and Francesca's truly delightful mother**, and possibly to Vermont to see LOS.
I love swimming in the ocean. I love swimming in New England ponds. I love fresh crisp air in the evening in the summer time.
After the New England trip***, we have a getaway to West-By-God-Virginia to see Big Bob. He has a retiree's gentlemen farm in an 18th century farmhouse, and the girls will run amok. Not like they don't ordinarily, but hey. So even after we get back from the big New England vacation, we'll have another treat on the horizon. Big Bob and his wife love Innana, so I'm hoping she'll be able to come with us, if she can stand it.
Okay, off to work to smite a few nitwits.
*Just fucked glow.
**I haven't written enough about this fine, lovely, kind woman. She is a true delight.
***Non-stop plane tickets courtesy of FoilMormor.
July 15, 2007
I've Seen the Light
No, I don't believe in God. I believe in someone who believes in God, which may be much the same. Yes, OGL has been completely successful and satisfactory.* The lucky volunteer? Not BioMan, but PiousMan. Who knew a prayerful attitude was so darn useful?
Let me be clear: I like the guy, but this relationship is not going to last. This man believes in a literal interpretation of the Bible. Of course, according to that book, he and I should both be stoned to death right now.
I don't want to corrupt this man or steal him away from his deeply held beliefs, but trust me, I'm not doing the pursuing here. He's recently widowed (six months), so I'm pretty sure than three or four months from now, he'll find some demure, sweet thing who is a member of his church and all will be over.
Most of the time, when women friends tell me "I'm not going to get [over]-emotionally involved, I think: "I'll buy you a drink when you are sobbing in your chardonnay, sweetheart." I actually think I have a good handle on this, and I'm not going to be heartbroken in one month or three when this is over. This isn't Mr. Right (there is no Mr. Right). This is Mr. Right Now.
Of course, how he learned all those moves that would get him smitten by the one who made us all in Levicticus (or Deuteronomy or whatever book of the Old Testament that takes all the fun out of sex and buries it after torturing and killing it first, just for fun and to show what a loving god really is) is something I will need to investigate. In my free time (what I have left of it, after work, child-rearing, and totally illicit sex), I'll investigate and report back.
Oh, and if you think you do have to stone me**, just count the times you've whacked off (wanked) and bang your none-too-cerebrally endowed skull hard against a concrete wall twice for each time you've committed the sin of onanism. That should take care of whatever cerebral function you had to begin with, even if it isn't much. Don't know what that is? Too bad. Try reading a book now and then. Anyway, try the onanism. You just might like it, and the rest of us will be relieved.
*No, there will be no details you voyeuristic creep. Go away.
**Morons in the Middle East and further East, I'm looking at you.
Let me be clear: I like the guy, but this relationship is not going to last. This man believes in a literal interpretation of the Bible. Of course, according to that book, he and I should both be stoned to death right now.
I don't want to corrupt this man or steal him away from his deeply held beliefs, but trust me, I'm not doing the pursuing here. He's recently widowed (six months), so I'm pretty sure than three or four months from now, he'll find some demure, sweet thing who is a member of his church and all will be over.
Most of the time, when women friends tell me "I'm not going to get [over]-emotionally involved, I think: "I'll buy you a drink when you are sobbing in your chardonnay, sweetheart." I actually think I have a good handle on this, and I'm not going to be heartbroken in one month or three when this is over. This isn't Mr. Right (there is no Mr. Right). This is Mr. Right Now.
Of course, how he learned all those moves that would get him smitten by the one who made us all in Levicticus (or Deuteronomy or whatever book of the Old Testament that takes all the fun out of sex and buries it after torturing and killing it first, just for fun and to show what a loving god really is) is something I will need to investigate. In my free time (what I have left of it, after work, child-rearing, and totally illicit sex), I'll investigate and report back.
Oh, and if you think you do have to stone me**, just count the times you've whacked off (wanked) and bang your none-too-cerebrally endowed skull hard against a concrete wall twice for each time you've committed the sin of onanism. That should take care of whatever cerebral function you had to begin with, even if it isn't much. Don't know what that is? Too bad. Try reading a book now and then. Anyway, try the onanism. You just might like it, and the rest of us will be relieved.
*No, there will be no details you voyeuristic creep. Go away.
**Morons in the Middle East and further East, I'm looking at you.
July 13, 2007
I'm A Moron, I've Said It Before and I'll Say It Again
I somehow managed to nuke Cookie's blog from my blogroll inadvertently. I also have him on my favorites and my computer remembers his site, so I didn't notice for a while. Why? Because I'm a moron. Our Cookie (and his blog) is back where he belongs. Be nice to him, or DestructoGirl will bite you (she's doing that a lot lately -- I would worry, but most people rather deserve a bite or do, and what nicer thing could touch them than her little sharp teeth? They're lucky, they just don't know it yet).
Laurita, Mi Amiga, Donde Estas?
Anyone who knows anything about the whereabouts (in cyberspace, not in the real world, I'm assuming Juanita knows all about Laurita's physical well-being, but a report on that wouldn't run amiss either) of the estimable Happy Ex-Hausfrau* whose blog just disappeared, please email me all news (if you don't feel comfortable posting that news here) at Foilwoman at gmail. Thanks. Laurita, do you need anything? I can punch someone out if necessary. I think PiousMan would even buy me a ticket to Kansas City if I threatened him with liquor.
*Well how else would a Hausfrau be happy? You tell me. After you tell me that she's okay.
Edited to add: Okay, I'm a retard. She's fine, she just took down her blog, which is entirely her prerogative. But how am I going to find out how Lil is terrorizing the citenzenry of Kansas City? It's always nice to discover that other people's children also sometimes act up, you know?
*Well how else would a Hausfrau be happy? You tell me. After you tell me that she's okay.
Edited to add: Okay, I'm a retard. She's fine, she just took down her blog, which is entirely her prerogative. But how am I going to find out how Lil is terrorizing the citenzenry of Kansas City? It's always nice to discover that other people's children also sometimes act up, you know?
Ah, To Be Young at Heart
I'm forty-six years old. I'm divorced. I have young children. My divorce was bitter, expensive, and hard-fought, and my ex-husband, the Insane Ex, really isn't a rational actor.
I'm pretty darn sceptical of other people, their motives, and their statements. I'm particularly sceptical of men.* I don't believe this is uncommon for middle-aged women. We know a man can say "I will never lie to you" and that statement, right there, is his first falsehood. If someone tells us he invented some device which will make millions, our first thought is, "He probably twisted a paper clip backwards and thinks it's as big a breakthrough as the internal combustion engine."
So part of me understands why so many men are drawn to younger women. They're so impressed! They like the fancy car, and don't think, when riding it: "Did his kids have to go to community college because he has the expensive vehicle? What kind of values does this schmoo have?" They actualy take a lot of statements at face value. They go for the mushy words ("I love you", "You're so beautiful", "I've never felt this way before") rather than the practical reality ("hey, if you need the car to go to the shop, let me look at it first. And I'll take it, because we all know that car guys aren't all that straightforward with women" or "I noticed the latch was loose, so I fixed it" or something as simple as always meeting one's financial obligations).
I noticed this last night. I had a nice happy hour with co-workers and later met PiousMan for dinner and drinks. Well, in his case, the drink was a lemonade, and that's fine. He doesn't drink, it's against his religion. That provided a nice opportunity to discuss his religion. He's looking for a new wife, not an affair. I mentioned that our values might be a bit different. We agreed we like each other.
The not drinking is not a problem, as long as PiousMan doesn't try to take away my glass of shiraz with a meal, but I think as he gets to know me better, he'll start feeling uncomfortable. I was really good. I didn't try to shock him, but did try showing him me. We discussed pre-marital sex, and I definitely shared my opinions on patriarchal religions trying to make female sexuality a bad thing, and that they should just put a sock in it. I was quite clear that I would never marry** a man who was not compatible with me sexually.
He was a bit surprised that I didn't just murmur appreciatively at his accomplishments, but he actually seems like a fairly capable, competent man with a secure sense of worth. He did ask some questions.
But going out, and being so guarded/sceptical of the person and the potential for a meaningful connection is rather sad. The lovely feeling of "Anything could happen now" is not a feeling one has very often at my age. I don't want to be giddy with infatuation, but being clear-eyed*** doesn't create all those delicious anticipatory feelings that are part of the courtship process.
Oh well. It was a nice meal, with a nice person, and a decent glass of wine. No harm, no foul.
*Part of this, I believe, is based on experience, but it may just be prejudice. I report, you decide.
**I won't say I'll never marry again, period, but fuck it, if I do, he has to pass Innana, DOL, SNV, and FoilMormor inspection, and I am sure as shit getting a pre-nup.
***I think I'm being clear-eyed, anyway, who knows.
I'm pretty darn sceptical of other people, their motives, and their statements. I'm particularly sceptical of men.* I don't believe this is uncommon for middle-aged women. We know a man can say "I will never lie to you" and that statement, right there, is his first falsehood. If someone tells us he invented some device which will make millions, our first thought is, "He probably twisted a paper clip backwards and thinks it's as big a breakthrough as the internal combustion engine."
So part of me understands why so many men are drawn to younger women. They're so impressed! They like the fancy car, and don't think, when riding it: "Did his kids have to go to community college because he has the expensive vehicle? What kind of values does this schmoo have?" They actualy take a lot of statements at face value. They go for the mushy words ("I love you", "You're so beautiful", "I've never felt this way before") rather than the practical reality ("hey, if you need the car to go to the shop, let me look at it first. And I'll take it, because we all know that car guys aren't all that straightforward with women" or "I noticed the latch was loose, so I fixed it" or something as simple as always meeting one's financial obligations).
I noticed this last night. I had a nice happy hour with co-workers and later met PiousMan for dinner and drinks. Well, in his case, the drink was a lemonade, and that's fine. He doesn't drink, it's against his religion. That provided a nice opportunity to discuss his religion. He's looking for a new wife, not an affair. I mentioned that our values might be a bit different. We agreed we like each other.
The not drinking is not a problem, as long as PiousMan doesn't try to take away my glass of shiraz with a meal, but I think as he gets to know me better, he'll start feeling uncomfortable. I was really good. I didn't try to shock him, but did try showing him me. We discussed pre-marital sex, and I definitely shared my opinions on patriarchal religions trying to make female sexuality a bad thing, and that they should just put a sock in it. I was quite clear that I would never marry** a man who was not compatible with me sexually.
He was a bit surprised that I didn't just murmur appreciatively at his accomplishments, but he actually seems like a fairly capable, competent man with a secure sense of worth. He did ask some questions.
But going out, and being so guarded/sceptical of the person and the potential for a meaningful connection is rather sad. The lovely feeling of "Anything could happen now" is not a feeling one has very often at my age. I don't want to be giddy with infatuation, but being clear-eyed*** doesn't create all those delicious anticipatory feelings that are part of the courtship process.
Oh well. It was a nice meal, with a nice person, and a decent glass of wine. No harm, no foul.
*Part of this, I believe, is based on experience, but it may just be prejudice. I report, you decide.
**I won't say I'll never marry again, period, but fuck it, if I do, he has to pass Innana, DOL, SNV, and FoilMormor inspection, and I am sure as shit getting a pre-nup.
***I think I'm being clear-eyed, anyway, who knows.
July 12, 2007
The Social Whirl
I've been a busy FoilPerson lately. I've been to fireworks, I've been to two plays in the last thirty days, I've been out to coffee, I've been to the National Museum of Women in the Arts' Frida Kahlo and Renaissance to Baroque women artists exhibitions (free community day). I've been on a few dates with hopeful candidates for OGL.
Last night I went to a play with Innana, The Drunkard, put on by Solas Nua. I didn't enjoy it, not because it wasn't good (it was) but because the wife dealing with her drunken husband (melodramatically) seemed a bit too much like a certain pre-Foil-me trying to cope with the mentally ill and narcissistic then-Mr. Foilwoman (now, thankfully, just an Insane Ex). So Innana took me home at intermission. The production was lovely though, and it was this theatre company's first performance ever. Ever. A treat. Wonderful staging, great actors, and one truly horrible Irish accent.*
Tonight a get together with co-workers, and then a date with a hopeful swain (not Bioman, we were going to get together tonight, but that didn't work out and that will possibly be next week, or maybe not, who knows). A second date. I like this guy, but he's quite religious, and religious in a way that affects a lot. Since I'm not looking for Mr. Right, but only Mr. Right Now, I'm not going to let religiosity stand in the way, but I am sceptical. I'm thinking this recently widowed man who has lived his life in pretty narrow confines is playing at being a bit naughty, and I'm the lucky candidate. Nonetheless, he's funny, he's smart, and he doesn't monopolize the conversation. So we'll see. I'll let a few annotated-by-Foilwoman interpretations of historical and recent events fly, particularly regarding Jerry Falwell, Baruch Goldstein, Jimmy Swaggert, Tammy Faye Bakker, Aimee Semple McPherson, Mary Baker Eddy, Muhammed Ibn Abd-al-Wahhab, Joseph Smith, and Brigham Young, and see where that leaves us.
Why would a devoutly religious guy want to go out with me?
*Think David Boreanaz playing Liam/Angel before he lost his Irish accent.
Last night I went to a play with Innana, The Drunkard, put on by Solas Nua. I didn't enjoy it, not because it wasn't good (it was) but because the wife dealing with her drunken husband (melodramatically) seemed a bit too much like a certain pre-Foil-me trying to cope with the mentally ill and narcissistic then-Mr. Foilwoman (now, thankfully, just an Insane Ex). So Innana took me home at intermission. The production was lovely though, and it was this theatre company's first performance ever. Ever. A treat. Wonderful staging, great actors, and one truly horrible Irish accent.*
Tonight a get together with co-workers, and then a date with a hopeful swain (not Bioman, we were going to get together tonight, but that didn't work out and that will possibly be next week, or maybe not, who knows). A second date. I like this guy, but he's quite religious, and religious in a way that affects a lot. Since I'm not looking for Mr. Right, but only Mr. Right Now, I'm not going to let religiosity stand in the way, but I am sceptical. I'm thinking this recently widowed man who has lived his life in pretty narrow confines is playing at being a bit naughty, and I'm the lucky candidate. Nonetheless, he's funny, he's smart, and he doesn't monopolize the conversation. So we'll see. I'll let a few annotated-by-Foilwoman interpretations of historical and recent events fly, particularly regarding Jerry Falwell, Baruch Goldstein, Jimmy Swaggert, Tammy Faye Bakker, Aimee Semple McPherson, Mary Baker Eddy, Muhammed Ibn Abd-al-Wahhab, Joseph Smith, and Brigham Young, and see where that leaves us.
Why would a devoutly religious guy want to go out with me?
*Think David Boreanaz playing Liam/Angel before he lost his Irish accent.
Bartleby the Scrivener is Alive and Well in Washington Working for Me
This happened somewhat recently (in the last few years).
What should a boss do with an employer, who, when asked to so something that is completely work related, says: "I prefer not to"?
I never actually thought that this was a real question. When I read Bartleby the Scrivener, I read it as a metaphor and allusion, not a cautionary tale. A sad error in judgment.
I asked an employee to do a mundane, work-related, job-appropriate task, and I was actually given the response I quoted: "I prefer not to."
This is someone who prides himself on his education, yet apparently he hasn't read much Melville. The employee then commented that being asked to [insert chore here, something equivalent to picking up a package] was insulting.
I did not respond to this information calmly. Does this nitwit realize that Bartleby came to a very bad end?
[Edited to add:] Of course, I informed him that at work what one wants to do isn't the determination of priority or necessity.
What should a boss do with an employer, who, when asked to so something that is completely work related, says: "I prefer not to"?
I never actually thought that this was a real question. When I read Bartleby the Scrivener, I read it as a metaphor and allusion, not a cautionary tale. A sad error in judgment.
I asked an employee to do a mundane, work-related, job-appropriate task, and I was actually given the response I quoted: "I prefer not to."
This is someone who prides himself on his education, yet apparently he hasn't read much Melville. The employee then commented that being asked to [insert chore here, something equivalent to picking up a package] was insulting.
I did not respond to this information calmly. Does this nitwit realize that Bartleby came to a very bad end?
[Edited to add:] Of course, I informed him that at work what one wants to do isn't the determination of priority or necessity.
July 9, 2007
We Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Chaos, Which Isn't Scheduled Anyway
TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl have been home from their vacation with their father for 25.5 hours and I am once again exhausted and my house is a mess. I'm loving it. Reunion last night was quite sweet and the girls had a great time.
Today, TigerGrrl woke herself up early, despite it being summer vacation to have breakfast with me before I left for work at 7 a.m. At home tonight, the girls and I went to the pool in our complex and our favorite lifeguard (a nice Eastern European woman of the no-nonsense variety, she dotes on my girls, especially DestructoGirl) was not there. I though this might be a problem, but DestructoGirl took a shine to the substitute lifeguard, a very goodlooking young EuroDude (he's one of the E-Dudes generally swanning around the No-Nonsense Lifeguard) who had heard DestructoGirl serenade No-Nonsense Lifeguard and decided he wanted similar treatment.
No problem! DestructoGirl may really have been a tank in a former life, but she's all about the vamping. I don't let her watch TV*, I certainly don't do the vamp thing (to quote from Dire Strait's Romeo and Juliet, saying "You 'n me, babe, how about it?" is about as vampy as I get) unless you like your vamps bossy and intimidating, despite being very, very nice underneath. So where she gets her ability to smite, I don't know. It's different than TigerGrrl's ability to smite. Neither girl is superfeminine or kittenish or Lolita-ish (thank heaven), but both have no problem getting boys their own and and grown men to do what they want. Resistance is futile.
So DestructoGirl is floating in the pool on her back, lazily kicking her chubby legs in the air, singing the ABC song (she got kind of stuck on X and just stayed there for a while) with a lascivious expression on her face. Then she tugged the lifeguard's toe, and darned if the sweet young thing didn't leave his post and get into the water with her. He then did played a number of games with DestructoGirl until the other lifeguard (apparently his boss) spoke rather sharply to him and told him to watch the entire pool. Of course, only TigerGrrl and I were there, so I didn't actually feel too guilty. As we left, DestructoGirl asked "See oo too-ma-rah?" sadly, and EuroDude assured her that he would stop by the pool to look for her. "It's a date" he said, and poked her in the tummy. She giggled like the Pillsbury Doughboy (who she still strongly resembles). He then asked me, with sincere interest, if we would be there tomorrow.
Where the heck else do kids go in DC in the summer when it's above 95 degrees Farenheit? Of course we'll be at the pool.
Meanwhile, TigerGrrl was throwing her diving toy torpedo into the deep end and collecting it from 8' down. "Mama, watch this! This one is with a super-back flip", "Mama, I call this one a twisty-dive!"
They went to bed easily tonight.
*That's a bit deceptive -- I don't pay for cable so we don't have any watchable TV channels: this really wasn't an active decision on my part except that it was an active decision not to spend money.
Today, TigerGrrl woke herself up early, despite it being summer vacation to have breakfast with me before I left for work at 7 a.m. At home tonight, the girls and I went to the pool in our complex and our favorite lifeguard (a nice Eastern European woman of the no-nonsense variety, she dotes on my girls, especially DestructoGirl) was not there. I though this might be a problem, but DestructoGirl took a shine to the substitute lifeguard, a very goodlooking young EuroDude (he's one of the E-Dudes generally swanning around the No-Nonsense Lifeguard) who had heard DestructoGirl serenade No-Nonsense Lifeguard and decided he wanted similar treatment.
No problem! DestructoGirl may really have been a tank in a former life, but she's all about the vamping. I don't let her watch TV*, I certainly don't do the vamp thing (to quote from Dire Strait's Romeo and Juliet, saying "You 'n me, babe, how about it?" is about as vampy as I get) unless you like your vamps bossy and intimidating, despite being very, very nice underneath. So where she gets her ability to smite, I don't know. It's different than TigerGrrl's ability to smite. Neither girl is superfeminine or kittenish or Lolita-ish (thank heaven), but both have no problem getting boys their own and and grown men to do what they want. Resistance is futile.
So DestructoGirl is floating in the pool on her back, lazily kicking her chubby legs in the air, singing the ABC song (she got kind of stuck on X and just stayed there for a while) with a lascivious expression on her face. Then she tugged the lifeguard's toe, and darned if the sweet young thing didn't leave his post and get into the water with her. He then did played a number of games with DestructoGirl until the other lifeguard (apparently his boss) spoke rather sharply to him and told him to watch the entire pool. Of course, only TigerGrrl and I were there, so I didn't actually feel too guilty. As we left, DestructoGirl asked "See oo too-ma-rah?" sadly, and EuroDude assured her that he would stop by the pool to look for her. "It's a date" he said, and poked her in the tummy. She giggled like the Pillsbury Doughboy (who she still strongly resembles). He then asked me, with sincere interest, if we would be there tomorrow.
Where the heck else do kids go in DC in the summer when it's above 95 degrees Farenheit? Of course we'll be at the pool.
Meanwhile, TigerGrrl was throwing her diving toy torpedo into the deep end and collecting it from 8' down. "Mama, watch this! This one is with a super-back flip", "Mama, I call this one a twisty-dive!"
They went to bed easily tonight.
*That's a bit deceptive -- I don't pay for cable so we don't have any watchable TV channels: this really wasn't an active decision on my part except that it was an active decision not to spend money.
July 7, 2007
Vacation for Saintly Babysitter
The FoilKids will return either tomorrow or Monday morning. I can't wait. Saintly Babysitter has also been away while TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl are away. I miss her too.
I can't say enough in Saintly Babysitter's praise. She deserves it all, and more. I wish I could pay her more. Fortunately, both FoilMormor and Big Grampa, divorced 28 years and still loathing each other, are utterly united in their wish to keep Saintly Babysitter happy and appreciated.
This summer, Saintly Babysitter gets two weeks of paid vacation. This week, while the FoilKids were visiting friends (who I like) with the Insane Ex, and another week, later this summer, while the girls and I visit FoilMormor and the Second Mate. During this time, I pay Saintly Babysitter's normal fee. Unfortunately, the summer plans were made before I knew Saintly Babysitter's class schedule for the summer, and both vacation weeks are while her school is still in session. So she can't visit the friends she has in Philadelphia and Providence.*
Fortunately, I was able to line up backup child care for a later week, so that Saintly Babysitter can have a week of travel to visit farflung friends. Unfortunately, I can't afford to pay the backup child care and Saintly Babysitter, and thus this third week of vacation would be unpaid. I mentioned this to Big Grampa, and that she really needed to visit friends (caring for small children is exhausting, and you need to get away even if you love the small** children very, very much, as Saintly Babysitter clearly does. Big Grampa was very impressed with Saintly Babysitter and the care she took of his only granddaughters. He said: "I'll pay half her fee for that week if FoilMormor pays the other half." He then said: "Call me a jerk, but I know your mother. She won't volunteer to do it, but if she thinks I'm doing it, she'll do so as well."
If you are a regular reader, you will know that I am often at odds with Big Grampa, but I just got a check in the mail from FoilMormor to prepare for my trip and to pay Saintly Babysitter's fee (half) for that week. So Saintly Babysitter can visit her friends and be only as frugal as she ordinarily is. With a health insurance card in her pocket.
I can't tell you how much I respect and like Saintly Babysitter. She is conscientious, hardworking, loyal, and doesn't take advantage. She does, consistently, more than we have agreed that she needs to do. For example, we agreed when she came to care for the FoilKids, that she would cook dinner for the FoilKids. She also makes mine. We agreed that she would clean the FoilKids' clothes and room (this was back in Chez Foil, which was a pretty big house, but nonetheless, she was only responsible for one room and two meals). She cooks my meals and cleans the Foil Flat, without me asking. She shares a room with the FoilKids (apparently, I snore, and Innana has confirmed that) without complaint.
I'm just pleased that I have been able to line up health and dental insurance at a fairly nominal cost (about $100 a month). Don't ask how. It's not divine insurance or anything, but I got it through an association to which I belong, and in which I enrolled Saintly Babysitter as an associate member, and now she can get medical treatment when she needs it. I wish I could do more. But she is getting three weeks of vacation, one of them in which she is travelling, and I hope she has a chance to rest.
o
I can't imagine what it is like to be in a country where one doesn't speak the language verywell, trying to make one's way. DestructoGirl said it best: "Nene est gentil." And she is. And more than that.
*Locations changed, natch.
**Okay, TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl are not so small (they're mine), but you get the general idea.
I can't say enough in Saintly Babysitter's praise. She deserves it all, and more. I wish I could pay her more. Fortunately, both FoilMormor and Big Grampa, divorced 28 years and still loathing each other, are utterly united in their wish to keep Saintly Babysitter happy and appreciated.
This summer, Saintly Babysitter gets two weeks of paid vacation. This week, while the FoilKids were visiting friends (who I like) with the Insane Ex, and another week, later this summer, while the girls and I visit FoilMormor and the Second Mate. During this time, I pay Saintly Babysitter's normal fee. Unfortunately, the summer plans were made before I knew Saintly Babysitter's class schedule for the summer, and both vacation weeks are while her school is still in session. So she can't visit the friends she has in Philadelphia and Providence.*
Fortunately, I was able to line up backup child care for a later week, so that Saintly Babysitter can have a week of travel to visit farflung friends. Unfortunately, I can't afford to pay the backup child care and Saintly Babysitter, and thus this third week of vacation would be unpaid. I mentioned this to Big Grampa, and that she really needed to visit friends (caring for small children is exhausting, and you need to get away even if you love the small** children very, very much, as Saintly Babysitter clearly does. Big Grampa was very impressed with Saintly Babysitter and the care she took of his only granddaughters. He said: "I'll pay half her fee for that week if FoilMormor pays the other half." He then said: "Call me a jerk, but I know your mother. She won't volunteer to do it, but if she thinks I'm doing it, she'll do so as well."
If you are a regular reader, you will know that I am often at odds with Big Grampa, but I just got a check in the mail from FoilMormor to prepare for my trip and to pay Saintly Babysitter's fee (half) for that week. So Saintly Babysitter can visit her friends and be only as frugal as she ordinarily is. With a health insurance card in her pocket.
I can't tell you how much I respect and like Saintly Babysitter. She is conscientious, hardworking, loyal, and doesn't take advantage. She does, consistently, more than we have agreed that she needs to do. For example, we agreed when she came to care for the FoilKids, that she would cook dinner for the FoilKids. She also makes mine. We agreed that she would clean the FoilKids' clothes and room (this was back in Chez Foil, which was a pretty big house, but nonetheless, she was only responsible for one room and two meals). She cooks my meals and cleans the Foil Flat, without me asking. She shares a room with the FoilKids (apparently, I snore, and Innana has confirmed that) without complaint.
I'm just pleased that I have been able to line up health and dental insurance at a fairly nominal cost (about $100 a month). Don't ask how. It's not divine insurance or anything, but I got it through an association to which I belong, and in which I enrolled Saintly Babysitter as an associate member, and now she can get medical treatment when she needs it. I wish I could do more. But she is getting three weeks of vacation, one of them in which she is travelling, and I hope she has a chance to rest.
o
I can't imagine what it is like to be in a country where one doesn't speak the language verywell, trying to make one's way. DestructoGirl said it best: "Nene est gentil." And she is. And more than that.
*Locations changed, natch.
**Okay, TigerGrrl and DestructoGirl are not so small (they're mine), but you get the general idea.
Great Weekend Ahead
Yes, I am taking my antidepressants and ADHD medicine (125 mg sertraline* and 30-50 mg of amphetemine salts (!)**), although I'm keeping the ADHD at 30 mg mostly so that by the end of the day I fade nicely into sleep. It's a tough call, keeping the concentration at functional levels, yet not hyping myself into whatever hopped-up state amphetemine addicts are in. I really don't understand using amphetemines as an illicit drug: the feeling, with too much in one's system is not remotely pleasant. I pretty much always take the morning 30 mg dose, but that's it. The midday 20 mg is just about too much. And yes, I've heard of the extended release Adderal, and no, Shrink doesn't think that's a good idea for me and I trust his judgmnet.
But anyway, for someone with some mental illness/condition issues, I always keep an eye on the medications, and right now they are working and I am in fine form. Fairly energetic, not too hyper, and enjoying the good that comes my way.
It's a lot easier to enjoy the good (1) after a bad spell and (2) when there is a lot of good out there. The turning point was Innana and Kira rushing to my rescue during the banking debacle (resolved -- I'm still stony broke, but I will be for a while, but I feel comfortable that I have met all the obligations necessary to maintain myself and the FoilKids and will be able to do so for the forseeable future). I managed to get the Saintly Babysitter health and dental insurance. Not great insurance, but enough so that I don't have to worry in the event of emergency, and she can go to the doctor or dentist when she needs to for a mere $20. She can get prescriptions, as needed for $10, $15, or $25, so that's good too (the hierarchy is generic, reasonably priced non-generic, and certain more expensive medications for which the pharmacy charges more). So we won't be having the tooth abscess crisis again, which is good, since I don't have the cash to pay for another $2,000 tooth repair.
I haven't gotten my annual review yet, but I've been told I will get a 4.8% raise at a minimum, and possibly more. I'll know for sure in September, but 4.8% is nothing to sneeze at. That'll cover the cost of Saintly Babysitter's health insurance. So I should feel: "I'm running in place" here, but her not having health insurance was really not good, and her having it means one fewer disaster that could bankrupt me and kill her. So that's good.
I'm seeing SNV and Ex-Marine Fred later today, and I'm really looking forward to it. Tomorrow, Innana and I were planning on going to the National Museum of Women in the Arts, but I made a mistake, at last Sunday was their free day, tomorrow isn't***, so we'll probably come up with another plan. Whatever it is, it will be fun.
I know Innana disapproves of OGL, but that's going well too. One of the candidates might suit her better, but that will be hard to pull off. I'm thinking about it, though. I feel like something should be going wrong though. Dating is about disasters, and I haven't had any yet. Also, just like with the search for and connection with Handyman, I am having fun (unlike the earlier dates I went on this year, where I just kept getting annoyed, which is kind of not the point of dating), which seems somehow innappropriate. Dating is about pain and suffering, not fun. I must be doing it wrong.
We'll see if BioMan and I do get together again. In the meantime, I'm having coffee soon with a former Rabbi. I told him I'm very irreligious, but that didn't seem to phase him. Maybe I could find an Imam? Except no. There's Reform Judaism and Reconstructionist (or something) Judaism with varying degrees of liberalism and less restriction on women, but I'm unaware of the Unitarian Universalist version of Islam.
*Generic Zoloft.
**Generic Adderal: I think just calling it amphetemine is more honest.
***To a DC area resident, paying to go to a museum just seems wrong. Museums, like the Smithsonian, should be free of charge.
But anyway, for someone with some mental illness/condition issues, I always keep an eye on the medications, and right now they are working and I am in fine form. Fairly energetic, not too hyper, and enjoying the good that comes my way.
It's a lot easier to enjoy the good (1) after a bad spell and (2) when there is a lot of good out there. The turning point was Innana and Kira rushing to my rescue during the banking debacle (resolved -- I'm still stony broke, but I will be for a while, but I feel comfortable that I have met all the obligations necessary to maintain myself and the FoilKids and will be able to do so for the forseeable future). I managed to get the Saintly Babysitter health and dental insurance. Not great insurance, but enough so that I don't have to worry in the event of emergency, and she can go to the doctor or dentist when she needs to for a mere $20. She can get prescriptions, as needed for $10, $15, or $25, so that's good too (the hierarchy is generic, reasonably priced non-generic, and certain more expensive medications for which the pharmacy charges more). So we won't be having the tooth abscess crisis again, which is good, since I don't have the cash to pay for another $2,000 tooth repair.
I haven't gotten my annual review yet, but I've been told I will get a 4.8% raise at a minimum, and possibly more. I'll know for sure in September, but 4.8% is nothing to sneeze at. That'll cover the cost of Saintly Babysitter's health insurance. So I should feel: "I'm running in place" here, but her not having health insurance was really not good, and her having it means one fewer disaster that could bankrupt me and kill her. So that's good.
I'm seeing SNV and Ex-Marine Fred later today, and I'm really looking forward to it. Tomorrow, Innana and I were planning on going to the National Museum of Women in the Arts, but I made a mistake, at last Sunday was their free day, tomorrow isn't***, so we'll probably come up with another plan. Whatever it is, it will be fun.
I know Innana disapproves of OGL, but that's going well too. One of the candidates might suit her better, but that will be hard to pull off. I'm thinking about it, though. I feel like something should be going wrong though. Dating is about disasters, and I haven't had any yet. Also, just like with the search for and connection with Handyman, I am having fun (unlike the earlier dates I went on this year, where I just kept getting annoyed, which is kind of not the point of dating), which seems somehow innappropriate. Dating is about pain and suffering, not fun. I must be doing it wrong.
We'll see if BioMan and I do get together again. In the meantime, I'm having coffee soon with a former Rabbi. I told him I'm very irreligious, but that didn't seem to phase him. Maybe I could find an Imam? Except no. There's Reform Judaism and Reconstructionist (or something) Judaism with varying degrees of liberalism and less restriction on women, but I'm unaware of the Unitarian Universalist version of Islam.
*Generic Zoloft.
**Generic Adderal: I think just calling it amphetemine is more honest.
***To a DC area resident, paying to go to a museum just seems wrong. Museums, like the Smithsonian, should be free of charge.
July 6, 2007
OGL: Pre-Flight Check
OGL* is in a very nice developmental stage. I had a great first date. And I hate dating. Hate, hate, hate it. Dating is to sex as suttee is to suntans. Really.
But in order to have sex, it seems likely that I will have to date. And I hate dating. Why do I hate dating? Most of the time, it's a waste of time. Somebody's money is getting wasted. Most often, not mine, but then I feel guilty, like I'm taking advantage. I hate listening to the life story. I hate telling my life story.** More honestly, I hate having to seem interested and enthusiastic when listening to the life story. I hate knowing he is doing the same. I hate missing reading a good book or knitting a bit of a sweater. I hate knowing that it probably isn't going to work out.
Nonetheless, I had a truly enjoyable first date, which might actually lead to OGL success. I'm stunned. Of course, it will now end up resulting in stalking, protective orders, and calls to the police. Or he won't call. One or the other, I'm sure.
Why was it a good date? BioMan (he does cellular microbiology, whatever that is, if I've got the terms right) suggested a free concert on the Mall. The concert wasn't that great, but was helped by a glass of Pinot Grigio. We didn't try to share life stories. We're both cheapskates right now for different reasons, but he wasn't an annoying cheapskate, just careful, and it made sense (two kids in college). He showed me pictures of his dog, a mutt who is the ugliest dog ever, but clearly beloved. He asked me out for next week. We'll see. I'm in shock. I don't think I've ever had a truly relaxed and enjoyable first date.
This might be a sign of the apocalypse. Say your prayers.
*That's "Operation Get Laid", for those of you who weren't paying attention.
**That's what this blog is for. I'd rather tell miscellaneous strangers, and a few close friends I've never met (and one I have) in Australia, the Netherlands, the U.K., New York City, South Carolina, Illinois, Kansas City, Missouri, and other miscellaneous places all about my life than tell some random almost stranger who hopes to get lucky.
But in order to have sex, it seems likely that I will have to date. And I hate dating. Why do I hate dating? Most of the time, it's a waste of time. Somebody's money is getting wasted. Most often, not mine, but then I feel guilty, like I'm taking advantage. I hate listening to the life story. I hate telling my life story.** More honestly, I hate having to seem interested and enthusiastic when listening to the life story. I hate knowing he is doing the same. I hate missing reading a good book or knitting a bit of a sweater. I hate knowing that it probably isn't going to work out.
Nonetheless, I had a truly enjoyable first date, which might actually lead to OGL success. I'm stunned. Of course, it will now end up resulting in stalking, protective orders, and calls to the police. Or he won't call. One or the other, I'm sure.
Why was it a good date? BioMan (he does cellular microbiology, whatever that is, if I've got the terms right) suggested a free concert on the Mall. The concert wasn't that great, but was helped by a glass of Pinot Grigio. We didn't try to share life stories. We're both cheapskates right now for different reasons, but he wasn't an annoying cheapskate, just careful, and it made sense (two kids in college). He showed me pictures of his dog, a mutt who is the ugliest dog ever, but clearly beloved. He asked me out for next week. We'll see. I'm in shock. I don't think I've ever had a truly relaxed and enjoyable first date.
This might be a sign of the apocalypse. Say your prayers.
*That's "Operation Get Laid", for those of you who weren't paying attention.
**That's what this blog is for. I'd rather tell miscellaneous strangers, and a few close friends I've never met (and one I have) in Australia, the Netherlands, the U.K., New York City, South Carolina, Illinois, Kansas City, Missouri, and other miscellaneous places all about my life than tell some random almost stranger who hopes to get lucky.
Another Mushy Post
And this one isn't even about the FoilKids. No, OGL hasn't taken wing yet (although it is proceeding nicely), but I'm one happy smart-oh-so-scary-white-chick (TM Champurrado). Why? It's the little things, really.
A friend of mine who has been depressed and badly medicated finally asked for the contact information for my psychopharmacologist and made and appointment. That's good, and will make life easier all around.
I made it to the library last night, and the DVD section had too movies on my list (it's a very long list, but a very small DVD section): History of Violence and The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. I watched Maggie Smith as Jean Brodie last night. Delightful, although I read the book when I was ten and need to re-read. I didn't really pick up on what a monster she was, although this is so pre-feminist. Maggie Smight. Mmmmm.
I got a bunch of books, including David Lodge's Paradise News (a nice summer re-read), C.S. Lewis's Til We Have Faces (re-read also: I saw it in a bookstore and didn't buy it -- no money, of course -- but there it was in the library, callin me: Foilwoman, psst, so here we are), and George Pellecanos's Drama City (Prom recommended Pellecanos, and I'm off the science fiction kick and back to crime, no surprise there), as well as Flags of Our Fathers. That should take care of a kid free weekend.
And I played the guitar: Pancho and Lefty, Streets of Baltimore (again), Suzanne, Operator, This Shirt, and Love at the Five and Dime. Of course, I'm not playing from memory. I'm playing from chord sheets downloaded from Olga. But if I play every day, I'll have more. Oh, and I played Waltzing Matilda, thinking of the Benniette and the BennyDude, being stolid and cute and DestructoGirl and TigerGrrlish in Adelaide. I have a plan to marry the BennyDude and DestructoGirl, and the His Eminence, Mrs. His Eminence, and I can rule the world, because everyone else will just surrender.
What? You object? Resistance is futile. These kids are the pinnacle of evoluation, and one guy and three girls seems about right, not from a sexual standpoint mind you (these are little kids) but for a ratio of who should be ruling things. And the Benniette can draw a mean jellyfish. Ariel and Jared can join in too of course. So it will be four girls and two boys. Add Laurita's two girls and we've got six girls and two boys ruling the world, and that sounds about right to me. The future is in good hands.
Speaking of which, flex-time or no, I've got to get to work.
A friend of mine who has been depressed and badly medicated finally asked for the contact information for my psychopharmacologist and made and appointment. That's good, and will make life easier all around.
I made it to the library last night, and the DVD section had too movies on my list (it's a very long list, but a very small DVD section): History of Violence and The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. I watched Maggie Smith as Jean Brodie last night. Delightful, although I read the book when I was ten and need to re-read. I didn't really pick up on what a monster she was, although this is so pre-feminist. Maggie Smight. Mmmmm.
I got a bunch of books, including David Lodge's Paradise News (a nice summer re-read), C.S. Lewis's Til We Have Faces (re-read also: I saw it in a bookstore and didn't buy it -- no money, of course -- but there it was in the library, callin me: Foilwoman, psst, so here we are), and George Pellecanos's Drama City (Prom recommended Pellecanos, and I'm off the science fiction kick and back to crime, no surprise there), as well as Flags of Our Fathers. That should take care of a kid free weekend.
And I played the guitar: Pancho and Lefty, Streets of Baltimore (again), Suzanne, Operator, This Shirt, and Love at the Five and Dime. Of course, I'm not playing from memory. I'm playing from chord sheets downloaded from Olga. But if I play every day, I'll have more. Oh, and I played Waltzing Matilda, thinking of the Benniette and the BennyDude, being stolid and cute and DestructoGirl and TigerGrrlish in Adelaide. I have a plan to marry the BennyDude and DestructoGirl, and the His Eminence, Mrs. His Eminence, and I can rule the world, because everyone else will just surrender.
What? You object? Resistance is futile. These kids are the pinnacle of evoluation, and one guy and three girls seems about right, not from a sexual standpoint mind you (these are little kids) but for a ratio of who should be ruling things. And the Benniette can draw a mean jellyfish. Ariel and Jared can join in too of course. So it will be four girls and two boys. Add Laurita's two girls and we've got six girls and two boys ruling the world, and that sounds about right to me. The future is in good hands.
Speaking of which, flex-time or no, I've got to get to work.
July 4, 2007
Review City
Innana mentioned, quite politely of course* that I had said I was going to review a number of establishments, events, etc., none of which I have reviewed. So here goes:
Carver House Bed and Breakfast in Strasburg, Virginia: I haven't had the luxury or pleasure in a while (budgetary issues, you know?), and got to do so because I was helping Innana with a volunteer effort of hers. I had said to myself, "Self: As long as there's a bed and a bathroom, you'll be fine." It was way better than fine.
This place was actually wonderful. Just great. Not too incredibly quaint in an annoying way: it was charming and comfortable and just pleasant. I spend time out on the rocker on the front porch. The breakfasts were really good. And the innkeepers, Tom and Linda Carver, were pleasant, helpful, and informative without being intrusive. When Innana and I were heading out of town for the weekend, I was barely functional and in a terrible mood, and Innana was pretty stressed as well. When we returned, on Sunday, we were smiling, relaxed and happy. Strasburg, Virginia is out near Winchester, Virginia and is a lovely place for a getaway. I recommend the Carver House to all. A lovely place.
McLean, Virginia's Fireworks: These were a lot of fun. They were advertised as having a Beach Boy's tribute band, carnival rides, a midway, and fireworks. Well, I don't consider a Moonwalk and similar things carnival rides. Those are kids' activities, but not rides. Nonethless, the fireworks were like something out of Mayberry. We arrived in a pouring rain, and then once it stopped, got out to see the carnival. Except there wasn't a carnival. We left, had dinner at La Madeleine, and then went back. Next year, when the FoilKids are with me, we'll probably go there. It was just lovely for kids: not too big, and the complete and utter absence of a Ferris wheel or merry-go-round will not matter with a live band and a moon bounce. Of course, the live band, Still Surfin', was professional, but it wasn't very musical. Nonetheless, children were dancing to the music and a good time was had by all. I do resent the absence of carnival rides though. Don't get me excited about going on a Tilt-a-Whirl and then not have the darn Tilt-a-Whirl. A cranky Foilperson can only handle so much. So McLean: don't say carnival rides unless you have carnival rides. Thank you.
Civil War Reenactors: Really, what can you say to these nice Southern boys? "I'm sorry, but you're nuts to wear wool in the summer, but if you want to spend your summer day reminiscing about how my ancestors whupped your sorry asses after you fired on Fort Sumter, go to town." I saw a real parallel between the Dungeons and Dragons crowd, World of Warcraft crowd, scifi convention crowd (you know, those Trekkies) and the reenactors. There were some, with their flowing moustaches, Buffalo Bill/George Armstrong Custer locks, and lengthy backwoodsy beards who clearly either were permanently unemployed or employed in not-dealing with the public or trained professionals categories.
Of course, the manners were lovely. Hats were tipped for ladies, chairs were offered, and the like. But the sense of people overly involved in a subculture was really strong. Of course, the people who weren't overly involved were so anachronistic as to be annoying. One woman in a crinoline kept pulling out her cell phone. Two teenagers were wearing makeup with their period outfits. Of course, in the period, with painted faces, they would have been prostitutes. I don't think they knew that.
But the guys, who get out there weekend after weekend and pretend to fall and die and are very uncomfortable (sweating and stinking) much of the time? From a lot of them I got the general "I never had a date in high school or college" vibe. I just don't get the whole subculture and falling into it that deeply.
*That's actually a redundancy, because Innana is always polite and therefore when I write "Innana mentioned" or "Innana said", an intelligent reader should assume that the mentioning or saying was polite and well bred.
Carver House Bed and Breakfast in Strasburg, Virginia: I haven't had the luxury or pleasure in a while (budgetary issues, you know?), and got to do so because I was helping Innana with a volunteer effort of hers. I had said to myself, "Self: As long as there's a bed and a bathroom, you'll be fine." It was way better than fine.
This place was actually wonderful. Just great. Not too incredibly quaint in an annoying way: it was charming and comfortable and just pleasant. I spend time out on the rocker on the front porch. The breakfasts were really good. And the innkeepers, Tom and Linda Carver, were pleasant, helpful, and informative without being intrusive. When Innana and I were heading out of town for the weekend, I was barely functional and in a terrible mood, and Innana was pretty stressed as well. When we returned, on Sunday, we were smiling, relaxed and happy. Strasburg, Virginia is out near Winchester, Virginia and is a lovely place for a getaway. I recommend the Carver House to all. A lovely place.
McLean, Virginia's Fireworks: These were a lot of fun. They were advertised as having a Beach Boy's tribute band, carnival rides, a midway, and fireworks. Well, I don't consider a Moonwalk and similar things carnival rides. Those are kids' activities, but not rides. Nonethless, the fireworks were like something out of Mayberry. We arrived in a pouring rain, and then once it stopped, got out to see the carnival. Except there wasn't a carnival. We left, had dinner at La Madeleine, and then went back. Next year, when the FoilKids are with me, we'll probably go there. It was just lovely for kids: not too big, and the complete and utter absence of a Ferris wheel or merry-go-round will not matter with a live band and a moon bounce. Of course, the live band, Still Surfin', was professional, but it wasn't very musical. Nonetheless, children were dancing to the music and a good time was had by all. I do resent the absence of carnival rides though. Don't get me excited about going on a Tilt-a-Whirl and then not have the darn Tilt-a-Whirl. A cranky Foilperson can only handle so much. So McLean: don't say carnival rides unless you have carnival rides. Thank you.
Civil War Reenactors: Really, what can you say to these nice Southern boys? "I'm sorry, but you're nuts to wear wool in the summer, but if you want to spend your summer day reminiscing about how my ancestors whupped your sorry asses after you fired on Fort Sumter, go to town." I saw a real parallel between the Dungeons and Dragons crowd, World of Warcraft crowd, scifi convention crowd (you know, those Trekkies) and the reenactors. There were some, with their flowing moustaches, Buffalo Bill/George Armstrong Custer locks, and lengthy backwoodsy beards who clearly either were permanently unemployed or employed in not-dealing with the public or trained professionals categories.
Of course, the manners were lovely. Hats were tipped for ladies, chairs were offered, and the like. But the sense of people overly involved in a subculture was really strong. Of course, the people who weren't overly involved were so anachronistic as to be annoying. One woman in a crinoline kept pulling out her cell phone. Two teenagers were wearing makeup with their period outfits. Of course, in the period, with painted faces, they would have been prostitutes. I don't think they knew that.
But the guys, who get out there weekend after weekend and pretend to fall and die and are very uncomfortable (sweating and stinking) much of the time? From a lot of them I got the general "I never had a date in high school or college" vibe. I just don't get the whole subculture and falling into it that deeply.
*That's actually a redundancy, because Innana is always polite and therefore when I write "Innana mentioned" or "Innana said", an intelligent reader should assume that the mentioning or saying was polite and well bred.
Miscellaneous Thoughts
Well, I had an artichoke, steamed, with peppercorn sauce as part of my dinner last night. After dinner, I looked in the pot I had steamed the artichoke in and the water had turned a deep sea green or pine green with real hints of blue. The artichoke is olive green, of course, so where did the darker color come from? And why haven't I noticed it the 37 million other times I've cooked artichokes? I need to delve into the mysteries of vegetable dyes, of which I have just now had a hint.
Today is the Fourth of July, Independence Day. I do feel independent, except perhaps financially. Innana and I are going to fireworks. Small, local fireworks, not the big ones on the Mall. With a fair and a midway. Life is good, as I said. Off to the pool now, to ogle the Euro-Dudes (if they are there) with Innana. Too bad they are neighbors and twenty years younger than I am. Otherwise, they might be good material for OGL. Benny, you promised AutralianDudes, with tans. It's winter there, don't forget. Send them here to sunny, humid DC for a real summer experience.
Today is the Fourth of July, Independence Day. I do feel independent, except perhaps financially. Innana and I are going to fireworks. Small, local fireworks, not the big ones on the Mall. With a fair and a midway. Life is good, as I said. Off to the pool now, to ogle the Euro-Dudes (if they are there) with Innana. Too bad they are neighbors and twenty years younger than I am. Otherwise, they might be good material for OGL. Benny, you promised AutralianDudes, with tans. It's winter there, don't forget. Send them here to sunny, humid DC for a real summer experience.
July 3, 2007
Just a Moment of Bliss
No, Operation-Get-Laid (hereinafter, OGL) has not born fruit yet, but I'm in the middle of something better than most sex. Not better than great sex, but better than mediocre sex with an inattentive or unappreciative partner.
What is it? It's a combination of things. First off, I'm listening to Leo Kottke: coming up soon, Rings, later Sonora's Death Row, Tell Mary, and Frank Forgets. Right now, the CD player is moseying through some of the good instrumental stuff. Later on, maybe some Travelling Wilburys. However, before that, I'm pulling out the Spanish classical guitar and playing a bit. Maybe The Great Divide, This Shirt, Pancho and Lefty, or Love Is Just a Four Letter Word. Then, finish the damn sweater for me I've been working on for eons.
All the while, I'm having some Breyer's dulce de leche (really, caramel swirl) ice cream.
Tomorrow: going to the midway of a summer carnival with fireworks with Innana. I'm a happy Foilwoman. Even so, I shouldn't refer to myself in the third person. Happy, happy me.
Edited to add: A nice twenty minutes on the guitar (haven't played in a while, fingers are sore), playing Angel from Montgomery, Across the Great Divide, Father and Son (Cat Stevens), Good Night Baby (Tom Petter), and the immortal Streets of Baltimore. Tomorrow: Pancho and Lefty. I've got to play the guitar more. That really does my soul good.
Don't get me wrong, I have no talent and just a smidge of musicality, but I do love my guitars. Today was just the classical, and probably tomorrow as well, but if I get my callouses built up, by this weekend, I could be strumming on the twelve-string. Oh happy day.
What is it? It's a combination of things. First off, I'm listening to Leo Kottke: coming up soon, Rings, later Sonora's Death Row, Tell Mary, and Frank Forgets. Right now, the CD player is moseying through some of the good instrumental stuff. Later on, maybe some Travelling Wilburys. However, before that, I'm pulling out the Spanish classical guitar and playing a bit. Maybe The Great Divide, This Shirt, Pancho and Lefty, or Love Is Just a Four Letter Word. Then, finish the damn sweater for me I've been working on for eons.
All the while, I'm having some Breyer's dulce de leche (really, caramel swirl) ice cream.
Tomorrow: going to the midway of a summer carnival with fireworks with Innana. I'm a happy Foilwoman. Even so, I shouldn't refer to myself in the third person. Happy, happy me.
Edited to add: A nice twenty minutes on the guitar (haven't played in a while, fingers are sore), playing Angel from Montgomery, Across the Great Divide, Father and Son (Cat Stevens), Good Night Baby (Tom Petter), and the immortal Streets of Baltimore. Tomorrow: Pancho and Lefty. I've got to play the guitar more. That really does my soul good.
Don't get me wrong, I have no talent and just a smidge of musicality, but I do love my guitars. Today was just the classical, and probably tomorrow as well, but if I get my callouses built up, by this weekend, I could be strumming on the twelve-string. Oh happy day.
Solipsism
Well, isn't that what blogging is really all about? One of the things I've noticed about myself from reviewing the recent topics I've been writing about it that I do what everyone else does with regard to other people's behavior: I write about what everyone should do as though my rules regarding behavior are the only rules out there, and the rules that should be followed* and it's all about me.
Of course, this blog is all about me. This is the world according to Foilwoman, but really, I'm not that much of a narcissist, or at least I hope I'm not. But this seems to be a atomizing and separating technique lots of us use.
I'll say it again (because I've said it before): people don't really learn that much and don't really want to learn, and anyone who thinks otherwise is setting herself up for disappointment or possibly an annoying and offputting sense of superiority.
Mr. Movie expressed some disapproval of a neighbor who has been redoing his bathroom, with a fair amount of noisy construction at all hours of the day and night. Of course, it's obnoxious, and probably a violation of the condo agreement to do noisy construction at all hours. Needless to say, I did not think Mr. Movie was the least bit out of line in telling the neighbor to cut off the construction on Sunday and in the evening. The neighbor stopped on request, but only upon request. But the tone of Mr. Movie, that the neighbor wasn't sufficiently chastened or penitent or whatever sounded very familiar to me** and I found it discomfitting.
Of course the neighbor was irritated and being told he was doing something wrong. Nobody likes to be caught being inconsiderate or rude. It's easy if you're the Insane Ex. You just deny that you did anything wrong and declare the person who caught you in the act to be the bad guy (that would be me). For everyone else, that feeling of shame and wrongdoing creates social awkwardness.
So those of us who run around saying what other people should do, what do we hope to accomplish? Not much, realistically, although everyone still runs around thinking that if you just tell people they are being inconsiderate they will stop being inconsiderate. No. If they are people with conscience, they'll feel ashamed and irritated. If they are not, well, that's what inconsiderate means.
Now I have to go brood over this, or jumpstart Operation-Search-For-Sex in earnest, which clearly hasn't taken off or I wouldn't even be thinking about this stuff. Oh wait, I'm a female. Under the modern social construct, I should honestly think about and seek sex. I should be unaware and be swept off my feet by someone hitherto unbeknownst to me.
Nope, I'll keep on being interfering and nosy and bossy. I'll just try to stifle the "It's all about me" trope/theme/meme/whatever. I mean, my own life is all about me, but everyone else could give a flying fuck, I'm sure.
*With regard to behavior on the Metro, you would be well advised to act as though my rules are The Rules. But other than that, I'm aware that my take on things is pretty personal no matter how much I might complain.
**It's a tone I've used, here and elsewhere, and it's not a tone I like or respect much.
Of course, this blog is all about me. This is the world according to Foilwoman, but really, I'm not that much of a narcissist, or at least I hope I'm not. But this seems to be a atomizing and separating technique lots of us use.
I'll say it again (because I've said it before): people don't really learn that much and don't really want to learn, and anyone who thinks otherwise is setting herself up for disappointment or possibly an annoying and offputting sense of superiority.
Mr. Movie expressed some disapproval of a neighbor who has been redoing his bathroom, with a fair amount of noisy construction at all hours of the day and night. Of course, it's obnoxious, and probably a violation of the condo agreement to do noisy construction at all hours. Needless to say, I did not think Mr. Movie was the least bit out of line in telling the neighbor to cut off the construction on Sunday and in the evening. The neighbor stopped on request, but only upon request. But the tone of Mr. Movie, that the neighbor wasn't sufficiently chastened or penitent or whatever sounded very familiar to me** and I found it discomfitting.
Of course the neighbor was irritated and being told he was doing something wrong. Nobody likes to be caught being inconsiderate or rude. It's easy if you're the Insane Ex. You just deny that you did anything wrong and declare the person who caught you in the act to be the bad guy (that would be me). For everyone else, that feeling of shame and wrongdoing creates social awkwardness.
So those of us who run around saying what other people should do, what do we hope to accomplish? Not much, realistically, although everyone still runs around thinking that if you just tell people they are being inconsiderate they will stop being inconsiderate. No. If they are people with conscience, they'll feel ashamed and irritated. If they are not, well, that's what inconsiderate means.
Now I have to go brood over this, or jumpstart Operation-Search-For-Sex in earnest, which clearly hasn't taken off or I wouldn't even be thinking about this stuff. Oh wait, I'm a female. Under the modern social construct, I should honestly think about and seek sex. I should be unaware and be swept off my feet by someone hitherto unbeknownst to me.
Nope, I'll keep on being interfering and nosy and bossy. I'll just try to stifle the "It's all about me" trope/theme/meme/whatever. I mean, my own life is all about me, but everyone else could give a flying fuck, I'm sure.
*With regard to behavior on the Metro, you would be well advised to act as though my rules are The Rules. But other than that, I'm aware that my take on things is pretty personal no matter how much I might complain.
**It's a tone I've used, here and elsewhere, and it's not a tone I like or respect much.
July 2, 2007
Sex Is the Plan, the Plan Is Annoying
And let's talk stereotypes. Once again, it is awkward, as a feminist, to realize that I am stereotypically the guy in most of my relationships. With women and men. But more so, I realize that the stereotypes of women and men really don't fit. That's not news. That's feminism. But the softest-hearted kitten-loving person I know? Ex-Marine Fred. Cookie runs a close second and possibly even ties Ex-Marine Fred if you consider doting on the FoilKids a competetive sport.
Aside from loquaciousness when writing, and a generally tendency to flap my hands when excited, I'm not girly. Not, not, not.
As an example of that, we reach the fine, fine topic of sex, men, and my attitudes toward both. I am not gay, so when I think sex, I largely (not all the time, I have an imagination) think about men. However, I've been sort of wondering when I would feel ready to have a real relationship again, and as I've sporadically dated in the last year I've realized I really, really don't want a relationship. Nope.
Too much work. Too much care and maintenance, all of which will fall on me, and will make Mr. Man feel better but will leave me feeling like I need to do more. I need to be honest with myself. Any "romantic"* relationship will just be a drain. I don't have the time for that or the energy for that. And I'll resent it, and the guy connected to that.
I want sex. Yup. And I don't want to have to do to much to get it.
Fortunately, there is a way to handle this. It's risky, as is most human interaction, but one really doesn't have to look to far afield to get sex. There's Craig's List. There's talking to new people on the Metro. There's generally reaching out.
The problem with the general reaching out is that people to whom one reaches out generally want a connection, and I don't really want that much connection. And we end up, mostly, in our own little worlds of friends where we can't really break out of the roles we're in because we don't want to ruin whatever it is we have. Mr. Movie and Mr. Studmuffin and The Professor have been my friends for over twenty years without the spectre of sex bonking us over the head and ruining a beautiful friendship or three, and I'm not going to screw with that now.
So I will actually have to do something. There's a guy at my office with whom I do not work who might be available and interested (he stops by to chat, when I swing by his office on an excuse, he's always pleased and drops whatever call he's on to come out and check the information I'm sharing with his colleague), but really, I like my job, and don't want to screw it up.
Craig's List is awash in men wanting NSA ("no strings attached") relationships, however, ludicrous that might sound (I mean, to me, a relationship of any sort means there are strings attached, but that logic is different from Craig's List non-Earth logic. Or maybe it is Earth-logic and I'm the alien one. Who knows? Who cares?). Bars are full of men seeking a connection. I can do this.
I'm skinnier than I was a year ago, which matters to a lot of these people, but I really don't want someone to whom that matters a lot: I want to be comfortable.
This will be annoying, but I will find a way, without taking any time away from the FoilKids, once they get home from their vacation. I have six days to myself. I should be able to use that time productively to get laid at least once. I'll just have to exert myself a smidge, that's all.
I just don't want to have to gaze in faux fondness at someone, as though whatever he had to say about whatever was just fascinating, when really, I have plenty of interesting people to talk to. That's not what I'm seeking.
Yes, I'm am a 46-year old female frat brother. So sue me. I'm just wired that way.
*Yeah, right.
Aside from loquaciousness when writing, and a generally tendency to flap my hands when excited, I'm not girly. Not, not, not.
As an example of that, we reach the fine, fine topic of sex, men, and my attitudes toward both. I am not gay, so when I think sex, I largely (not all the time, I have an imagination) think about men. However, I've been sort of wondering when I would feel ready to have a real relationship again, and as I've sporadically dated in the last year I've realized I really, really don't want a relationship. Nope.
Too much work. Too much care and maintenance, all of which will fall on me, and will make Mr. Man feel better but will leave me feeling like I need to do more. I need to be honest with myself. Any "romantic"* relationship will just be a drain. I don't have the time for that or the energy for that. And I'll resent it, and the guy connected to that.
I want sex. Yup. And I don't want to have to do to much to get it.
Fortunately, there is a way to handle this. It's risky, as is most human interaction, but one really doesn't have to look to far afield to get sex. There's Craig's List. There's talking to new people on the Metro. There's generally reaching out.
The problem with the general reaching out is that people to whom one reaches out generally want a connection, and I don't really want that much connection. And we end up, mostly, in our own little worlds of friends where we can't really break out of the roles we're in because we don't want to ruin whatever it is we have. Mr. Movie and Mr. Studmuffin and The Professor have been my friends for over twenty years without the spectre of sex bonking us over the head and ruining a beautiful friendship or three, and I'm not going to screw with that now.
So I will actually have to do something. There's a guy at my office with whom I do not work who might be available and interested (he stops by to chat, when I swing by his office on an excuse, he's always pleased and drops whatever call he's on to come out and check the information I'm sharing with his colleague), but really, I like my job, and don't want to screw it up.
Craig's List is awash in men wanting NSA ("no strings attached") relationships, however, ludicrous that might sound (I mean, to me, a relationship of any sort means there are strings attached, but that logic is different from Craig's List non-Earth logic. Or maybe it is Earth-logic and I'm the alien one. Who knows? Who cares?). Bars are full of men seeking a connection. I can do this.
I'm skinnier than I was a year ago, which matters to a lot of these people, but I really don't want someone to whom that matters a lot: I want to be comfortable.
This will be annoying, but I will find a way, without taking any time away from the FoilKids, once they get home from their vacation. I have six days to myself. I should be able to use that time productively to get laid at least once. I'll just have to exert myself a smidge, that's all.
I just don't want to have to gaze in faux fondness at someone, as though whatever he had to say about whatever was just fascinating, when really, I have plenty of interesting people to talk to. That's not what I'm seeking.
Yes, I'm am a 46-year old female frat brother. So sue me. I'm just wired that way.
*Yeah, right.
July 1, 2007
Citizen Genet
Well, I'm not a big Sartre fan, and Genet seems Sartre-esque. I can say this much about Genet: I am unsure as to whether or not he treated Simone de Beauvoir like dirt, which Sartre did, so he gets at least one point above Sartre.
Innana took me to see The Balcony at the Warehouse theatre. A friend of hers was in the production, and it was a fine production of an absolutely godawful play.
The actors were great and the staging was quite good. The text. Eish. That's all I'll say. And I'm a woman who likes talky French crapola. I enjoy Eric Rohmer* movies. (Anyone who ever sat through Le Beau Mariage or Le Genou de Claire knows that this means that a talky movie doesn't do me in. Heck, I enjoyed My Dinner with Andre.)
I enjoyed the evening, and after the play, we went to the Silver Diner for an ice cream, at midnight, a remnant of younger days. Being kidless for a week (the FoilKids are visiting friends with their father this week) really does mean one can do things when one wants to do them. Imagine that.
I wore a great dress I found last year at Ross for $10 that SNV and CNL insisted that I buy: a sundress, with embroidery and spangles. I thought I might be too old to carry off a dress requiring a strapless bra** with basically no shoulder coverage outside of spaghetti straps, but no. And I only looked out of place in that I was the only woman showing a fair amount of skin who didn't have a tattoo strategically placed on a bosom or shoulder.***
Innana and I agreed: we are so totally mainstream. Last time Innana was at the Warehouse, they had a lesbian burlesque. She said that she had never felt so heterosexual in her life. Well, Innana and I, bohemians we are not.
One that that can be said for not being bohemian is that apparently that state comes with an acute lack of coordination and spatial awareness. The Warehouse's theatre seats approximately 100 people. It's is, you may be able to figure out, quite teensy. While waiting in line to get in, several people tripped over several other people, and two or three people tripped over or bumped into a rather obvious sidetable. They were not noticeably impaired, but maybe they thought the table would move out of their way? I couldn't figure it out.
During the play itself, in the middle of the first act (about 15 minutes in) a woman behind us (100 seats, remember) apparently needed to do something urgent and climbed over everyone and then tripped and almost fell into my lap. Maybe thirty seconds later, she lurched back in, and then another minute later she and her companion lurched back out. This in a room about the size of my living room.
After the play, more of the same. At one point, passing the bar, I was pushed into the lap of a nearby gentleman (sadly, too young for me, but a nice armful nonetheless and he didn't seem to mind) by another uncoordinated hipster. I can understand that people are occasionally clumsy, trip and fall at times, and sometimes aren't aware of the space they take up, etc. But there was an epidemic of it, and involving me, other people, and inanimate objects. Maybe it's the tattoos? I don't know. At the end, it might have just been the soporific effect of French philosophe dialogue. That would get me a bit shaky on my feet. I needed a brownie sundae to perk me up, remember.
Anyway: Genet, ick, the performance itself, pretty good, although why anyone would pick this play, I don't know. It would be like being told you can pick one Shakespeare play to perform to demonstrate the glory of Shakespeare to hitherto untutored millions and you pick . . . Titus Andronicus. Except it wasn't that bloody onstage. But still.
*Rohmer has famously declared that dialogue is action, or some such nonsense. He's French. C'est ca. I am saying this they way El Guapo says of someone: He's Argentinean. Only this once.
**Since I have no strapless bra, it didn't really require one. The material was this enough, and I went braless. At 46 (!) and if I say so myself, I looked good. Actually, TigerGrrl asked my why women's breasts sag as they age (we change in the Y dressing room when we swim in the winter -- she's an observant kid) and I said, hey, it happens as you age. She then said: "But it hasn't happened to you." I love that kid.
***Which leads me again to ask: why would someone want a fern covering her lats and pecs? Huh? Or a buffalo? I just don't get it.
Innana took me to see The Balcony at the Warehouse theatre. A friend of hers was in the production, and it was a fine production of an absolutely godawful play.
The actors were great and the staging was quite good. The text. Eish. That's all I'll say. And I'm a woman who likes talky French crapola. I enjoy Eric Rohmer* movies. (Anyone who ever sat through Le Beau Mariage or Le Genou de Claire knows that this means that a talky movie doesn't do me in. Heck, I enjoyed My Dinner with Andre.)
I enjoyed the evening, and after the play, we went to the Silver Diner for an ice cream, at midnight, a remnant of younger days. Being kidless for a week (the FoilKids are visiting friends with their father this week) really does mean one can do things when one wants to do them. Imagine that.
I wore a great dress I found last year at Ross for $10 that SNV and CNL insisted that I buy: a sundress, with embroidery and spangles. I thought I might be too old to carry off a dress requiring a strapless bra** with basically no shoulder coverage outside of spaghetti straps, but no. And I only looked out of place in that I was the only woman showing a fair amount of skin who didn't have a tattoo strategically placed on a bosom or shoulder.***
Innana and I agreed: we are so totally mainstream. Last time Innana was at the Warehouse, they had a lesbian burlesque. She said that she had never felt so heterosexual in her life. Well, Innana and I, bohemians we are not.
One that that can be said for not being bohemian is that apparently that state comes with an acute lack of coordination and spatial awareness. The Warehouse's theatre seats approximately 100 people. It's is, you may be able to figure out, quite teensy. While waiting in line to get in, several people tripped over several other people, and two or three people tripped over or bumped into a rather obvious sidetable. They were not noticeably impaired, but maybe they thought the table would move out of their way? I couldn't figure it out.
During the play itself, in the middle of the first act (about 15 minutes in) a woman behind us (100 seats, remember) apparently needed to do something urgent and climbed over everyone and then tripped and almost fell into my lap. Maybe thirty seconds later, she lurched back in, and then another minute later she and her companion lurched back out. This in a room about the size of my living room.
After the play, more of the same. At one point, passing the bar, I was pushed into the lap of a nearby gentleman (sadly, too young for me, but a nice armful nonetheless and he didn't seem to mind) by another uncoordinated hipster. I can understand that people are occasionally clumsy, trip and fall at times, and sometimes aren't aware of the space they take up, etc. But there was an epidemic of it, and involving me, other people, and inanimate objects. Maybe it's the tattoos? I don't know. At the end, it might have just been the soporific effect of French philosophe dialogue. That would get me a bit shaky on my feet. I needed a brownie sundae to perk me up, remember.
Anyway: Genet, ick, the performance itself, pretty good, although why anyone would pick this play, I don't know. It would be like being told you can pick one Shakespeare play to perform to demonstrate the glory of Shakespeare to hitherto untutored millions and you pick . . . Titus Andronicus. Except it wasn't that bloody onstage. But still.
*Rohmer has famously declared that dialogue is action, or some such nonsense. He's French. C'est ca. I am saying this they way El Guapo says of someone: He's Argentinean. Only this once.
**Since I have no strapless bra, it didn't really require one. The material was this enough, and I went braless. At 46 (!) and if I say so myself, I looked good. Actually, TigerGrrl asked my why women's breasts sag as they age (we change in the Y dressing room when we swim in the winter -- she's an observant kid) and I said, hey, it happens as you age. She then said: "But it hasn't happened to you." I love that kid.
***Which leads me again to ask: why would someone want a fern covering her lats and pecs? Huh? Or a buffalo? I just don't get it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
