The Four Hour Work week? Yes, please.

I recently finished Timothy Ferriss' book, The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere, and Join the New Rich. You can go ahead and judge me, because I sure as hell would if you told me that you read something with that title.

I was really prepared to hate it because hearing about Hero's Journeys from people my own age always rubs me the wrong way. Call it the Eat Pray Love phenomenon. And the dude was a white collar worker, so really, how hard was your life? Given that this whole blog is pretty much a white collar worker whining about the trivialities of life, essentially, I was prepared to hate this dude for being like me, but being much more vocal (read: writing the book) about how awesome he kind of is for getting out of the corporate trap.

Because I love memoir, I found the autobiographical parts really fun to read, and because the 80/20 rule is pretty much my #1 rule at work, the background on Pareto's Principle fairly interesting. Other parts of the book were pretty 'meh' (I'm not going to outsource my birthday party planning and grocery shopping to India) and other parts contained things I knew already.

What was most useful were the questions that he asks around what you would be or could be doing with your time if you weren't spending 9-5 at work. Basically what is exciting to you? The two questions that hit me like a lightning bolt, though, were hidden away on page 37:

1. How has being 'realistic' or 'responsible' kept you from the life you want?
2. How has doing what you 'should' resulted in subpar experiences or regret for not having done something else?

Right. So how much time do you have? See also: my entire career.

Matt Madden covered something similar recently in his post, What you should do versus what you need to do, and my comment was

Too often, we fall into the “well, I was going to do XXXXX, but I don’t have time to do that with work, kids, life, etc” line of thinking. Or in our professional lives, the “well, I would do XXXX, but the corporate bureaucrats/manager/SEC/whatever won’t let me” speech. Well, sure. But the problem is that many people (self included sometimes) don’t really define what that XXXX is — what it is that motivates and excites them, what they really would like to do — because that’s the hard question. It’s easier to assume that you would have your dream life if it wasn’t for these other annoyances. Without defining your motivation, though, you’re more likely to compromise and stay in a tolerable, yet unfulfilling career, lulled into believing you’re stable.

This is where I am right now. My job is okay and tolerable, but mostly unfulfilling. And we're not stable. I am still living paycheck to paycheck, and constantly in fear of the big expenses we could have in our future: more childcare, schools, maybe a house, a move, etc. Never mind the bad shit you never really want to think about like illness or disability. We're constantly in fear of the future, especially given the economic situation these last few years.

One thing that Ferriss convinced me loud and clear, though, was not to view retirement as the end goal. He gives three good reasons:
1. You hate what you are doing when you are most physically capable of doing something else. Dumb, no?
2.Your purchasing power decreases after you retire, and you can't maintain your standard of living. He says, "The golden years become lower-middle-class life revisited. That's a bittersweet ending."
3. If you're ambitious, retirement is going to be boring, so you'll want a new job or career. Why wait? I saw this exact scenario happen to my mother. I spent so much time listening to her tell stories about finally relaxing when she retired. Then she retired, was bored out of her mind, drove everyone nuts, and found a new job and career (one that really likes this time) a few months later. I really don't want to wait another 20 years to get a chance to have a job I like.

I also admire how well Ferriss was able to market himself. I think he was a relative nobody before the first edition of his book came out, but he used some serious social media marketing to spread the word and then began showing up in Wired, Fast Company, and all over the place. Even if you think the guy's a dick, that's pretty impressive.

I don't think I could ever classify this book as a "life changer" without needing my head examined, but it's another example of reading the right book at the right time. I need to answer the questions he poses. I need to figure out what is exciting to me. I need to move from tolerable to great. And I know I want to make a change soon.

Welcome To The Time of Your Life

Or, your mid-thirties.

I know that I am old because when I was asked what I wanted for my birthday the other day (a particularly hellish day with hot sweaty weather and car repairs and another fucking tooth coming in for Z), I spat out, "I just a want a few hours where NOBODY ELSE IS TOUCHING ME!" Goodbye roofies, crack and hookers. Hello, mommyhood.

Fortunately, I got my wish. AND IT WAS AWESOME. Chronological details of my day:

* Slept late. 8:15 a.m.!

* YG took the girls to church, and I played hooky, catching up on Project Runway and the "special edition" of Glamour Dos and Don'ts. Starting the year off on an intellectual high note.

* Rode my bike for the first time in over two years. Mem Drive is closed on Sundays, so I just circled back and forth along the Charles and remembered why I love living in Cambridge.

* Spent an hour at Diesel writing and drinking Rasberry Lime Rickeys.

* Ended my NO TOUCHING hours and met up with YG and the girls.

* Hiked Walden Pond. Ate prosciutto.

* Came back home and watched The Sound of Music with Z. Sang Climb Every Mountain with feeling.

* Gave Z a bath. I could leave out the part where she shit in the tub, as 'hold a turd' was not high on my to-do list for my birthday, but I will not.

* Risotto and red wine on the porch.

* Cupcakes and presents.

* Internets.

A pretty awesome day, made even more so by all the phone calls and texts and Facebook posts. And another day off tomorrow.

Year In Review: How Did I Stack Up?

Tomorrow is my birthday. Last year, I was feeling so depressed and miserable in my postpartum haze that I hated the thought of celebrating. So I did what I do when I'm depressed: I made a list. Of things that I should accomplish before my next birthday, so that I could wow myself with all my progress.

Sigh. I have been dreading looking at that list because I was/am certain that I didn't get everything. In no order of importance, my goals for last year were:

1. Finish 3 more essays to accompany Diets and Carolina Pottery. Well, I finished one more essay, but I did send the two existing ones out to everybody and their brother. I will call this one moderately successful.

2. Update resume on LinkedIn and send to recruiter contacts. Done. More than once.

3. Network More! Especially with people with interesting jobs. I went to a few networking events. I didn't die. I still suck at this.

4. Save Money For More Options. Um, yeah.

5. Go Back To Classes In The Winter. This didn't happen last year, but I am signed up for this semester's essay class. Not too late to call that a success. And I did register before my birthday so....

6. Take Zygote to swim classes. Done. I wish I could afford more. She loved it. I loved it.

7. Teach Zygote sign language. We tried?

8. Make a list of all the things that interest me and a list of skills I have. Working on it. I am almost too self-deprecating to do this with any real seriousness.

9. Take a vacation with just YG. We went to NYC in August, and then business brought us to San Francisco last weekend. In my opinion, that's way too long to go without having some adult time away. Will work harder this year.

10. Develop cover letter for jobs that aren't in my current field. Done, but half assedly. Needs work.

11. Apply for new job. Done. I have stopped applying for tech jobs because I don't see the point. So applications have been few and far between, but were for jobs that I actually *really* wanted.

12. Use Fridays for WRITING. Meh. Fridays are more for housewifing. It's been a good experiment, but I really would like to be much more rigorous about this.

13. Run/keep working out after I get back to work. Done. Half marathon, bitches!

14. Read the books on my bookshelves before buying more. EPIC FAIL.

15. As always, lose some weight. And as always, fail.

Not all bad. Progress was made. From my journal last year, "I am a successful failure. Successful because I can take care of myself, my kid, make money, appear normal. But a failure because I'm in my 30s and still uncomfortable in my own skin and have no discernible life path that I can figure out. And really, I like doing nothing. And then I like doing more nothing with YG and Zygote."

I know that I was depressed when I wrote that, but now I read it and I don't think that too much has changed. And I'm okay with that. I know that by most definitions of success, I am doing okay. And that by most definitions of obnoxious navel-gazing, I am a SUPERSTAR. I guess I'm just more comfortable with that now and am okay (this minute, under the influence of mixed drinks, just sayin') with this whole comfortable, super secure awesome badassness taking a little more time than I thought.

This Is What A Relationship Looks Like: West Coast Edition

By some awesome twist of fate, YG and I both have business trips in the same city at the same time. And while I am in the throes of tech trade show Hell (polyester golf shirts and lanyards and all), free airfare to San Francisco does not suck.

After reviewing every possible disaster scenario that could happen to Zygote while we were both away (Ebola! Plague! Hurricane! Sharp Edges! Abandonment Issues!), we finally concluded that my parents managed to raise three relatively normal children with all of their limbs intact so surely they could handle one relatively calm toddler. We sent Z packing to New Jersey and came out to the West Coast early.

The first few hours without Z were an epic Fail and I went through all the typical Mommy Lit-documented stages of grief. Then I had a beer. At the airport. And watched Jersey Shore. And finished a book. With nobody touching me. Nice.

Yesterday, YG and I slept late and then walked down to the Ferry Building to putz around a bit. We took the ferry to Tiburon for lunch, and ended up spending most of the afternoon at this place , drinking wine and eating insane amounts of fresh mozzarella. We came back to the city, went to the Gap (because there are no Gaps ANYWHERE in Boston), bought pants, and after this trying ordeal of a day, decided to take advantage of the half price martinis at the hotel bar. The bar is on the 39th floor where you can feel the hotel swaying in the wind. Extremely strange. Add in the effects of the "passionate martini" and it's all kinds of vertigo fun. Then we headed out to Russian Hill and had dinner at Hyde Street Bistro. Any place that offers a twice baked potato souffle gets my strong recommendation.

And then it was back to the hotel for lots of wild and passionate........BASEBALL TONIGHT ON ESPN HD!

Today was an early morning run on the Embarcadero, room service breakfast (an extremely glam bowl of Rice Crispies and banana for 16 freaking dollars), and back to all work, all the time. Still, I managed to get out and have lunch at my favorite place near the Moscone, Samovar Tea Lounge, enjoying the sun and just knowing that we are going to end up out here for real someday.

Want To Get Ahead at Work? Keep Your Vagina Clean!

Um. Um. Hmmmm....Sometimes there really are no words.

Summer’s Eve, everyone's favorite brand of vaginal douche with the flowy white curtains and rainfalls and ponies, has an advertisement in the latest issue of Women’s Day, advising women on how they can get a raise. Along with eating a healthy breakfast and focusing on what I bring to the bottom line, I need to make sure that my vag is all shiny and clean and fresh.

But then:



Oh, of course. I would NEVER want to get too personal. I'll keep my vagina sparkling, and my boss can keep his balls clean, but we won't discuss it. With that stuff in order, really, the revenue and growth potential is endless.

Body Positivity and Fat and Disordered Eating, Oh My!

I've been having some post-vacation crazy head around my weight, so it's always good to check in with the blogosphere to put things in perspective, or at least find some commiseration.

I loved this post over at Saturday Jane, especially this:

The weird thing is that I don’t actually think I have an awful body. I can look at it objectively and go, “Oh, hey, I have a waist! That is a nice thing to have.” I can try to rate myself on the 10 scale (I don’t recommend this) and come up with a number that isn’t in the negatives. I am pretty dang standard, but as soon as I try to dress above my ‘attractiveness rating’ I get nervous.

I think this is because a woman’s confidence can be seen as an inherently dangerous thing. If a woman proudly posits that her ears were, in fact, carved by artisan Gods, people will give her The Look. You know The Look. The ‘Mm, do you really think you can afford to say things like that? Are your ears really that fantastic? In fact, I think one is bigger than the other. Hey, Barbara, look at this girl’s ears, don’t you think one is too big?” Rather than deal with the heartbreak of somebody tearing down her assumptions, the woman with the fabulous ears will keep her confidences to herself, becoming ashamed of her own pride in a weird cycle of non-esteemy esteem.

What it boils down to is this: I am okay with my body, but I don’t want other people to know that I am okay with my body, because then they will notice it, and what if they discover something that is not okay? And then if they think I am okay with something that really isn’t okay, they’ll think I’m a snob, or a bitch. They’ll think I’m one of those blindly self-praising girls who thinks she’s all that. They’ll tell everybody else that that’s what I am. A girl who thinks she is all that, when I am not all that at all, I’m not even a little bit that! And then everyone will talk about me behind my back and I’ll never get asked to prom and nobody will ever approve my housing loans.

I am not afraid of people thinking I am ugly.

I am afraid of people thinking that I am presumptuous.

This is why I am eager to beat The Universe to the punch, to explain that oh, no, don’t worry. I know my nose is weird and blobby and crooked. I get that my fingers are the size and shape of chewed-on cigars. It’s cool. I’m cool. I don’t think I’m ‘above my station’ or anything. I’m being realistic here.

I could have written that. I wish I wrote that. I am that.

In other news, please check out this article on Jezebel about the new reality show, What's Eating You -- an Intervention-like show about people with eating disorders. Or as I like to think of it, A How To Guide For Young ED Sufferers.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation: Reading And More Reading

Oh, how I used to love those essays in elementary school -- the perfect exercise for a dutiful, Type A student who wanted to show off all the academic exercises (reading) she performed during the summer.

We are back from Long Island. It was a lovely break, and we made it to the beach or my father's cousin's pool every single day of the 15 days we were there. YG and I even had a few nights away from the kids, including an overnight in NYC with Korean BBQ, yummy cupcakes and free sangria on the rooftop deck of our hotel.

YG biked almost every day, and I managed to squeeze together a few longer runs. The best part of vacation though, was all of that glorious uninterrupted reading time. I steamed through 6 books including:

* Judith Warner's Perfect Madness:Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety -- I know this is a few years old, but I couldn't put it down. Warner looks at current society's obsession with parenting, and how things came to be out of balance. She makes the argument that the value systems that have traditionally driven the market (a focus on extreme competition and winning at all costs, blah) have filtered into our private value systems. [Tangent: For interesting reading on the values-based marketplace, check out our friend Matt's blog.] There is no difference now between the values that drive enormous corporations and those that drive families, and because people feel out of control and unable to keep up with the Joneses, they focus on the things that they CAN control -- their kids. This leads to extreme helicopter parenting, anxiety, etc. It was a great read and I could certainly relate to that out-of-body experience most of the women interviewed had when they see
how quickly the constraints of traditional gender roles re-emerge once there are kids involved. I wish there had been more on how to work toward political and social reform other than her standard "call your congressman" line, but I can overlook that.

* Megan McCafferty's Sloppy Firsts -- I blame SKB and her Megan McCafferty obsession for this one. I thought this was going to be a YA book and wasn't really interested, but hello, sarcastic braniac teenager from NJ who keeps a diary of her horrendous high school experience? Loved it, and finished it in a day. It reminded me of a John Hughes movie with a little My So Called Life mixed in.

* John Heilemann and Mark Halperin's Game Change: Obama and the Clintons, McCain and Palin, and the Race of a Lifetime -- I wondered if this book would live up to the hype, and it totally did. It reads like a novel, and has bits of suspence even though you know the outcome. Most of the candidates appear very human, and I ended up appreciating Hillary a bit more and loving Michelle more (as if that were possible). The chapters on Palin are scary hilarious, in that you still don't understand what the hell is wrong with her, and John Edwards looks like King Douche. Loved it.

* Jennifer Eagan's A Visit From The Goon Squad. I heard this review on NPR a few weeks ago, and immediately went out and bought the book. It's a novel that reads like a short story collection, and the cast of characters is something out of Great Expectations. Loved the powerpoint chapter.

* Monica Ferrel's The Answer is Always Yes -- I don't know when I bought this, but it's been collecting dust for months. It's about an insecure kid from NJ trying to be cool at NYU in the early 90s and the NYC club scene of the same era. Let's just say it was relatable. And the prose is very breezy and whimsical.

* Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies. I can't believe I never read this before. Lovely. And I enjoyed all the references to my neighborhood.

I'm currently in the middle of Joyce Carol Oates' Black Girl White Girl. It's dragging a bit and definitely not her best work, but I'll refrain from offering an opinion until I finish it.

We also read stacks of crappy magazines. Real ones, not ones like those of the Famous 'YG and The Crappy Magazines' Incident 2009, when we sent YG on the errand to pick up crappy beach mags and he came back with Popular Mechanics and Car&Driver. I now know way too much about the Kardashians, Lady Gaga's bad boyfriend, and Jennifer Aniston's baby plans. Sigh. I guess the reading cancels this out, right?

Linkeroo

We're just back from vacation, so I'm working on a few updates. In the meantime, check these out:

Medicinal Marzipan on The Hierarchy of Fatness

Newsweek's Special Feature on The Beauty Advantage

Red Vinyl Shoes on day jobs, particularly apt as I went back to work today.

Nothing We Women Can't Be

Cooler part of having a kid? Getting to watch Sesame again. LOVE this.

Shirley, You Jest?

I am now officially off the clock until August 19. Destination: Shirley.

When I come back and write my What I Did on My Summer Vacation essay, I hope to have:
* Read
* Beach
* Slept past 6:30
* Wine
* Carvel Ice Cream
* Run
* Wine
* Beach
* Hung out with YG at the new Kimpton in NYC while parents watched the spawn
* Hung out with my brother and sister
* Been appreciative of my mom (read: not be a dick)
* Not gained 30 lbs
* Wine

So.Many.Chores

I mentioned last week that I had much to say about another one of New York Magazine's bougie 'parenting makes me sad because I have to spend so much money on hand-crafted wooden toys and organic foods' articles. I was all prepared to offer a scathing critique (or let's be honest: link to someone else's scathing critique and say I agreed with it), but there were pieces of All Joy and No Fun -- Why Parents Hate Parenting that definitely resonated.

Insert standard parenting disclaimer here about how I absolutely adore my child and my stepchild, and I've never been so sure about any other decision in my life blah, blah.

But oh my god, the to-do list! My daughter is only a year old, so right now, I can't talk about how being a parent is going to impact my long-term career or my relationship. I know that these are topics that people stress over, but right now, work is well, working for me (in the balance sense, not the right fit way), and I have faith that YG and I will be able to remember each other in the midst of all the chaos. It is the day-to-day activities, though, that make me a little insane, and make me question the idea of adding more people to the mix. In six pages of the article, the one quote that jumped out at me like a big bold exclamation point was:

“I have two really great kids”—ages 9 and 11—“and I enjoy doing a lot of things with them,” she told me. “It’s the drudgery that’s so hard: Crap, you don’t have any pants that fit? There are just So. Many. Chores.”

YG is traveling right now, and that tends to make me feel like I am deeply mired in the drudgery and all bitchy and moody, but here's what the last 48 hours have looked like here:

Sunday
* Up at 6:30
* Coffee/breakfast for me, breakfast for Z
* Play on floor with Z because she screams bloody murder when I stand up, never mind leave the room
* Dress Z. Avoid showering because it means baby meltdown and I don't smell that bad, and even if I do, church is filled with hippies.
* Church
* Z naps for 2 hours. During this time, I make both of our lunches for Monday, clean the breakfast dishes, fold some laundry, pay bills, clean the litter box
* Take Z to pool
* Target stop -- cat litter, bread, milk
* Give Z bath. Let her run around naked because she has raging diaper rash.
* Z shits on the floor.
* Clean shit floor.
* Make bottle. Read story. Z in bed by 7:45.
* Take out garbage and recycling, balance checkbook, eat dinner.
* Take shower because I know tomorrow morning is not going to be easy.
* At 10:30, decide I want to read my book (Judith Warner's Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety), but am too exhausted. Watch Real Housewives of New Jersey instead.

Monday
* Get up at 6:15 to beat Z and get myself cup of coffee
* Z morning bottle. Bottle leaks all over our bed.
* Get dressed, get Z dressed. Nearly break leg trying to put on underwear, due to squirmy crying thing attempting to scale my leg
* Get stuck behind recycling truck on our one-way street on the way to bring Z to daycare
* Daycare drop off. Z is smiley and blowing kisses and ma-ma-mama-ing, so I play on the floor for too long.
* Of course, there is traffic on 95.
* Work day.
* Leave by 5 to beat traffic to daycare.
* Take Z home, put her in the Ergo, and do errands (mail, depositing checks, blah blah)
* Introduce Z to the wonder of the Chipotle burrito bowl, and have brief worry over whether or not this is baby-appropriate food. Say 'fuck it.' She enjoys.
* Z home. Z pre-bedtime meltdown.
* Read Z her story. Doorbell rings -- it's our neighbors wanting to know if they can use our grill. I really like them so I chitchat for a bit, while Z whines.
* Cat gets out.
* Cat chase. Crying baby.
* Bedtime routine part 2.
* Make lunches, clean living room, think about changing the milk-stained sheet from this morning.
* Think it's time for a High Life instead.
* Blog.
* TBD: shower, maybe some reading, more likely another episode of Real Housewives

And folks, I had a GREAT weekend and a pretty good day today. Despite her meltdowns, Zygote is pretty fun to be around. It wasn't bad. It just is what it is, but when you think that every day is going to be this race of activities and chores, it can feel a bit overwhelming.

Sarah Wildman wrote in her essay on Politics Daily,
Parenting and Happiness Pair Well, Despite What You Read:

"Parenting all joy and no happiness? Not at all. It's all happiness and joy, but also all frustration and anxiety and, yes, anger. It's schizophrenia, it's mania."

and

"Having a kid is a little like being an expat in the world -- the highs are that much higher, the lows that much lower, the intensity like nothing else. Joy and pain; tears and laughter; everything that much sharper than it was before."

This is how I prefer to see it. The drudgery is much more intense than before, but the happiness factor is way higher too. I look at this kid, and she's pretty cool, and I think, "hey, I helped make that. Neat."

And I'll leave you with this quote from the New York article about parents in other countries being, on average, happier than American parents:

If you are no longer fretting about spending too little time with your children after they’re born (because you have a year of paid maternity leave), if you’re no longer anxious about finding affordable child care once you go back to work (because the state subsidizes it), if you’re no longer wondering how to pay for your children’s education and health care (because they’re free)—well, it stands to reason that your own mental health would improve. . . .“We’ve put all this energy into being perfect parents,” says Judith Warner, author of Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety, “instead of political change that would make family life better.”

And maybe, because that is Something I Do Give A Shit About, it's time to get involved in forcing that political change. What that means, I don't really know.

There is a Balm in Gilead (Or: Reading)

I finished reading Marilynne Robinson's book, Gilead, and I suspect that this is another book that people will love or hate. I suspect that "well, it's the musings of a Congregationalist minister in 1950s Iowa" would not be a huge sell for most of my friends. But I loved it. It's the story of an old (76) minister who writes a letter to his young, seven-year-old son, hoping to impart some wisdom on the boy because he won't be around as he grows up. It would be easy to simplify and say that this is a book about "life lessons," but I don't want to do that. It's about life, death, forgiveness, love, grief, etc. It's about how even a simple, small town life can be a beautiful life.

Robinson's writing is amazing. I remember reading her book, Housekeeping, while we were away on vacation in Cancun. I kept thinking that it was the worst beach read ever. Not because it was a bad book, but because the prose was so packed and beautiful, it took me forever to even get through a page. She waited more than 20 years to publish her next book, and the words read like she was working them over for a long time, choosing them to be perfect.

I also love that this book keeps to the form of the letter from cover to cover. I've always been a writer/journaler/whatever, but post-Zygote, I've been even more enthralled with? committed to? this idea that she should have a written record of what kind of person I was. We really only know our parents as our parents, and not really as people. As Robinson writes,

"You can know a thing to death and be for all purposes completely ignorant of it. A man can know his father, or his son, and there might still be nothing between them but loyalty and love and mutal incomprehension."

I am Zygote's mother, and this is how she will always see me. My parents have always been my parents, and even with glimpses here and there into their lives pre-children, I have no other real frame of reference for them. Everything they do -- every triumph and every horrible mistake -- is seen through the lens of me, me, me. This is the way of the world, and I don't mind being Just Mommy, but I do like the idea of leaving behind some record of what else was swirling around in my crazy head, and some context.

I write Zygote a letter in a journal we made for her every month. I had hoped to do more, but that never came to fruition. Neither did the Baby Book that you're "supposed to" keep, recording first teeth and laughs and smiles. File under: numerous parenting failures. YG is much more visual and fills the journal sometimes with cards and ticket stubs of places we've visited and pictures. He does the same for MG.

I've often wondered if my parents have done anything similar for me. When my grandfather died, we discovered that he and my grandmother had kept all the love letters they exchanged during World War II. Even though my grandmother was still alive, she had Alzheimer's and my father and aunt said they felt uncomfortable reading them, that it would be an invasion of her privacy. I wonder if they ever did get to reading them. I wonder whatever happened to all the letters and postcards I sent my family when I was traveling. I can't imagine that they threw them away (my tendency to hoard all my old letters and cards has to come from somewhere), but where are they? In some cardboard box in a closet, waiting to be rediscovered? My mother surprised me, the first time I got married, by giving me a scrapbook that she made, pasting old photos of me, awards and terribly bad, dark poems I had written into it. My aunt also wrote me a letter that was stuffed in there. My mom and my aunt are not, by any stretch of the imagination, crafters or scrap bookers, and knowing that she had saved that stuff was a better present than any of the other crap I got.

I'm a bit rambly, and there were many other plot points that I enjoyed, but this paragraph, stuffed right in the middle of the book where you almost could miss it, sums up why I loved it so much:

"I'm writing this in part to tell you that if you ever wonder what you've done in your life, and everyone does wonder sooner or later, you have been God's grace to me, a miracle, something more than a miracle. You may not remember me very well at all, and it may seem to you to be no great thing to have been the good child of an old man in a shabby little town you will no doubt leave behind. If only I had the words to tell you."

That made me think of this quote, that both my father and grandfather, carry/carried around:

"A hundred years from now, it will not matter what kind of car I drove, what kind of house I lived in, how much money I had in the bank...but the world may be a better place because I made a difference in the life of a child." -- Forest Witchcraft

Read this book.

There is a balm in Gilead
To make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead
To heal the sin-sick soul.

Six Items or Less: Yes. No. Maybe?

The New York Times ran an article today, Shoppers on a ‘Diet’ Tame the Urge to Buy, that spoke right to me.

I've been thinking a lot about 'Fast Fashion' and I've also been thinking a lot about money. Or more specifically, how I don't have much. And what I have doesn't seem to get prioritized for the things I want (travel, stability, wine), but ends up being frittered away on more t-shirts and stacks of books I will never have the time to read or on keeping 6pm.com in business. As much as I'd like to go cold turkey and declare A Year Without Shopping (good book, BTW), that's just not going to work for me. I need to think of things as a fun project with goals and objectives (see also: Type A) for it to work.

I toyed with the idea of joining Kendi's 30 for 30 Challenge, but the Six Items Or Less folks are hardcore! I'm intrigued, awed, and possibly interested. I'm still mulling it over, and in case it wasn't obvious, will be blogging about whatever project I decide on. I don't make decisions without first examining exactly how I can document them. :-)

In the meantime, check out the video:

Close To My Own Heart

Check out The Globe's article, Years and Marriages Later, They Still Pay.
Biting tongue. Biting tongue.

Cory Doctorow and Me and Sometimes Stephen King

Have you discovered I Write Like? It's a statistical analysis tool that analyzes word choice and writing style and compares it with those of the famous writers. I input a bunch of blog entries, and Stephen King came up once, but Cory Doctorow came up multiple times. I'm embarrassed to say that I needed to look him up. Well, add to the list of "things to read."

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Fast Fashion (Or Other Unsustainable Things I Wish I Didn't Enjoy)

It's come to this. I'm going to have to give up my shopping habit. When you compare it to eating fast food, it seems inevitable.

What the hell am I talking about, you ask?

Naomi Wolf wrote an article, The High Cost of Cheap Fashion, about a month ago, about why exactly those clothes at Zara, Forever 21, H&M and the like are so cheap. Later, Aminatou Sow, posted two items over at Feministe, Retail: It's Complicated and More on Fast Fashion. Both are making their way around the blogosphere, and are worthwhile reads.

These bits were what jumped out at me:

"Fast Fashion — much like Fast Food — is cheap, addictive, and built on an unsustainable, low-wage system. These throwaway clothes are purposefully designed to be worn a few times and discarded, which contributes the growing problem of textile waste. According to the EPA Office of Solid Waste, the average American household throws away more than 68 pounds of clothing and textiles per person per year so it’s not hard to imagine how the constant production of new clothing poses a number of environmental challenges, especially in developing countries. "

And,

"Truly committing to Slow Fashion would require us to learn more about the clothes we buy and who produced them, and using that knowledge to make socially and environmentally responsible choices. "

Sigh.

We all know I have a problem. The No Shopping Project demonstrated this to me in a way that I knew deep down, but never fully realized. I'm having the same feelings that I did when I knew I had to give up eating so much processed, crap food. I know what the "right" thing to do is, but I don't want to give up what I like, and I am definitely the product of a culture that embraces stuff, and a culture that wants that stuff cheap and fast.

I suspect I'll be spending some time with Elizabeth Kubler Ross in the near future.

Don't Let The Door Hit You In The Vagina On Your Way Out

We are off for Maine Weekend Part Deux, so posting will be light. I have things to say (New York Mag runs another unhappy parenting article! Must Comment!) but need to pack.

The title is apropos of nothing. Just on my mind after reading my brother's post about how he often quotes from Dumb and Dumber and Knocked Up, which I do too. All that money they spent on those college educations...

Somewhere in Heaven, Billy Martin Just Got Fired

RIP, George. It's a sad day for Yankees fans.

Back Down The Rabit Hole: Or Finding The Right Thing To Read Exactly When You Need It

I have a couple of free minutes to write this evening, and I was searching through my Yahoo account, looking for articles I sent myself that I eventually was going to write about. Key word is eventually. I wanted to link to Medicinal Marzipan because it's one of my new favorites, and on there, I found this link to Imagine Today's post, Falling Back Down The Rabbit Hole.

"See, for all of my talk about body-acceptance and loving yourself there’s still this whisper of self doubt, a voice that is always waiting to let me know just how much better I would look and feel if I just dropped say, ten pounds? Fifteen? maybe even twenty?! It’s a voice that I work incredibly hard to silence with projects, outings, new dresses, and accomplishments. Most of the time I’m stronger than it but if I do something like, say, get on the scale and discover that I now weigh five pounds more than I thought I did… that’s when the voice in my head takes over."

And,

"If that wasn’t bad enough it was all to easy to find computer programs (like Daily Plate) that were ready to recommend a calorie intake of about 1,100 and forms where I could talk incessantly about this diet with other people because our society is structured to encourage diet talk more than nutrition talk. I mean, yeah, we cue in to eating disorders most of the time but you can’t even get diagnosed with an eating disorder until your body weight drops to a dangerous level. This is creepy because it means, essentially, that I can have all of the behaviors of anorexia (I don’t, but hypothetically) without the medical institution even acknowledging something is wrong with me until I drop enough weight to concern people… this makes sense considering American culture focuses on weight as the bottom line, rather than behavior/nutrition/health/etc.

Essentially, our culture tends to encourage people to develop disordered eating behaviors (which I certainly have and I’m not the only one) by focusing so firmly on diet pills, instant-gratification plans, before & afters etc. instead of focusing on NUTRITION.

I won’t let this beat me down."

I needed to read that. This body of mine and I are not in a good place right now. I don't know who declared an end to the cease fire first, but there has been a huge disconnect between how I see myself and what others see, and more importantly, between how I see my body and what my body can actually do. I ran a half marathon, I am regularly putting together 7-8 mile runs, I had a baby, I nursed a baby for a year, and I lost all the baby weight. Still, there's a voice in my head that says "not enough" and the mirror and the pictures just show fat, fat, fat. We went outlet shopping over the weekend, and I cried in the dressing room for the first time in a really LONG time over some ill-fitting pants (always with the fucking tiny pants!) And then I cried more because I am in my mid-thirties, a mom, and relatively smart, and still, this is such an issue for me.

I'm trying to figure out a way to match seeing what my body can do to how I see my body, but it's a work in progress. Just typing it is extremely difficult for me, but probably the only one to get this recovery and acceptance ball o' fun kicking around again.

Reading/A Book Review: Marion Nestle's What To Eat

I think and write a lot about food. And then I think and write a lot about the issues that I think are associated with food -- body politics, health, fat, fitness, intuitive eating, etc. I'm no expert, but I think and write and read a lot about this stuff because I find it interesting and because I want answers. I really have no fucking clue how to eat.

The abridged version: dieted for years, bad, bad, BAD disordered eating behaviors, stopped dieting, started researching/reading, started running and understanding food as fuel. Still completely and hopelessly confused. And totally insecure in my abilities to make decent food choices.

A friend recommended Marion Nestle's book, What To Eat: An Aisle-by-Aisle Guide to Savvy Food Choices and Good Eating. I absolutely loved this book and would put it on my "must read" list. It covers the same issues as a lot of Michael Pollan's books, but is much more accessible and well, funny.

The book is organized by grocery section, and Nestle tackles all of the issues -- taste, nutrition, health, social, environmental, and cost -- associated with each. After tackling these issues and in some cases, looking at the politics behind them, she talks about how how she, herself, eats and tackles her own food choices. I loved this. I felt it was informative and really not preachy.

Overall, I didn't learn a lot about what I should be doing more of (eating more fruits and vegetables, less processed foods), but I did learn about all the food myths and misinformation out there, and I learned a TON about how to properly read food labels. I thought I was relatively good at this, but I was sorely mistaken. There are so many sugars that I didn't really know were sugars. I also got a better understanding of why it is such bullshit to place the burden of safety and health on the consumer rather than the producers.

And don't even get me started on the chapters on marketing food to children. I've recoiled in horror in recent years when I started noticing products like "Diet Pepsi with Vitamins" or "Iron-Fortified Cookie Crisp," but that's mainly because I like my processed foods exactly that way -- processed, HFCS-ed up, and completely devoid of nutritional value. But that was before I became a parent. I nursed Zygote until she was almost a year old, so I didn't have to think too much about what I was feeding her. When I started feeding her solids, I found that I was grabbing snacks that were labeled "start healthy" or "made with whole grains" because they sounded nutritious, but I wasn't really reading the labels. With the exceptions of a few jarred foods, only a handful of toddler snacks contain ingredients that children should actually be eating. Just an example, I have something called a "lil' crunchies baked whole grain corn snack" in front of me, and the ingredient list is: whole grain yellow corn meal, corn oil, whey, tomato powder, ticalcium phosphate, sugar, salt, onion powder, garlic powder, citric acid, spices (basil, black pepper, fennel), mixed tocopherols (for freshness), natural spice flavor, alpha tocopheryl acetate (vitamin E), zinc oxide, elctrolytic iron. What the hell is all that? Just because it sounds healthy and it's marketed as such doesn't mean it actually is.

Nestle comes out in favor of organics, mainly because you can get food that is certified and regulated. I get that argument and respect it, but personally, I find it hard to choose organic strawberries from thousands of miles away, when I get can get local, conventionally grown strawberries from the Farmers' Market down the street, where they will be fresher and didn't use a ton of fuel to get here. My choice, but I feel like it's an informed one.

I'm hoping that this book will have more of an impact on our day to day cooking and shopping, and will help me put some of the beliefs that I have about grocery shopping and eating into real practice.

Delicious Spam I Have Enjoyed

In response to my relationship post, I received this comment, "Thank you so much for sharing it.Kamagra is one of the most popular Erectile Dysfunction medications. Kamagra affects the muscles lining the blood vessels in the penis causing more blood to stay in the penis when sexually stimulated. This helps men to maintain an erection."

Beautiful.

In Support of NOPWAD, a Fabulous New National Organization!

I wish I could claim responsibility for coining the term NOPWAD, the National Organization for People Who Advocate the Divorce (of their Mutual Friends Who Obviously Hate Each Other But Stay Together For Religious / Social Reasons), but sadly I am not that funny. I saw it in the comments section of an article about NOM's (National Organization for Marriage) Creepy Summer bus tour, and laughed my ass off.

From NOM's blog site:

"We have a right to vote for marriage. And we are going to fight for our rights—and, most importantly, for our children’s right to grow up in a country where God’s truth about marriage trumps political correctness and judicial tyranny! We’re here, we support marriage, we’re not going anywhere!. . . This is a chance to meet others who share our deepest values; to identify, energize and equip fellow activists; and to send a powerful message to elites who pretend that Americans don’t care about this issue. If they can isolate us, they can intimidate us. But the people united cannot be defeated!"

Sigh. What to say, really? "Supporting" marriage means being anti-gay? Gay marriages are somehow different than heterosexual marriages? If you're for strengthening marriages, why not let people who made the choice to get married stay married? I have a really hard time understanding exactly what NOM's premise is.

This Is What A Relationship Looks Like: Sex With Others Edition

Do other couples do this? YG and I were lying around, discussing what other actors and actresses we thought were hot and who we would have sex with if they were right there, you know, in our bed, kind of like the Friends laminated list.

Our lists are pretty pathetic, and it took a lot of conversation and google searching to figure them out. YG's were Carrie Byron (the girl from Mythbusters), Scarlett Johanssen and Jennifer Aniston. With prompting from me, he also decided on Christina Hendricks, but only when I reminded him that she was the hot redhead on Mad Men. For me, he asked me to choose between Brad Pitt and George Clooney, and I said that Clooney wins that one every time, although Brad Pitt got infinitely hotter than his boring blonde midwestern thing when he took up with Angelina Jolie, who is also on my list. Then he asked, "Clooney or Leo?" And really, is that even a question? LEO. Who's hotter than Leo, and we all know that my answer would be Jon Stewart because he is the hell of funny and that always trumps hot. And Denis Leary, just because.

And then, the following conversation ensued:
JM: This is a pretty paltry list. I mean, we're Google image searching "hot people."
YG: Yeah, and I don't even know who half these hot people actually are.
JM: Ditto.
YG: Problem is that even if I wanted to have sex with any of my people, I would want you there too.
JM: That's sweet. I don't even really think about having sex with my people.
YG: What do you think about?
JM: I mean, I don't know. I'd want them to think that I was all hilarious and smart and then notice my giant boobs. I got issues, man. Like, if Leonardo DiCaprio was here, right now, naked, in bed, I'd probably be telling him stupid jokes. Like, even in my fantasies, I'm not hot. But I am really, really funny.
YG: Even in your fantasies, you're fat.
JM: Now see, THAT's funny.
YG: Exactly.
JM: I think I need to blog this now because it's kind of funny and I won't remember it tomorrow.
YG (recapping entire conversation with editorial notes): Go write!

Sabotage or Stupidity: You Decide -- Or How I Didn't Meet Mary Karr

Mary Karr did a reading at Harvard Bookstore Monday night. How did I know this? Well, it's been on my calendar for about a month and a half now, and I had sketched out an elaborate fantasy in my head about how I was going to go there and get over my fear of "networking" and I'd talk to her and she would think I was witty and funny, and we'd chat about Syracuse and our dealings with AA and wasting time in marketing jobs and whatever, and I'd casually mention that I was a writer, and she'd be all, "oh, you're funny. I'd love to read your stuff," and so on. I rescheduled a bunch of weekend plans so that I could go to this reading, and YG agreed to babysit. And then....

I fucking FORGOT to go. I just forgot! I didn't even think about it until I got in to work yesterday morning, and I saw, "Mary Karr: Harvard Bookstore! YAY!" in big red ink on my desk calendar.

I'm sure a therapist could have a field day with this and all the self-sabotage angles, but for now, I'm going to take the higher road (eye roll) and chalk it up to stupidity. Maybe you don't like Mary Karr. She has her fair share of critics, but I have devoured everything she's ever written, most recently, Lit, and I was really looking forward to it. Damn it.

Well, at least I saw Rushdie that one time. This one time, at band camp. . .

I mean her butt, It's just so big, I can't believe it's so round, It's just out there: Or Cattiness and Why We Do It

Thank you, Sir Mix-a-lot, for not only one of the bestest songs evah, but also a perfect example of girl-on-girl cattiness. This topic was in an Already Pretty post today titled, "Why So Catty?" exploring why women's default settings seem to be set on being catty and being critical. Sal boils it down to self-centeredness and unexpressed aggression.

She says,

"Remember middle school? If you're anything like me, you'd rather have your hair set on fire than go back to that time, when we'd finally learned to be cruel, to humiliate each other publicly in the name of social status. And why did we do that? Because our bodies were changing, our world was shifting, it scared the shit out of us and, unlike boys, we weren't "supposed" to break stuff, beat each other up, or run around like hooligans to exorcise our fears. Now here we are and our bodies are changing, our world is shifting, it scares the shit out of us and ... we attack each other. It's a socially-sanctioned action for angry, confused women. Again, ineffective, destructive, and infantile. But it's what's expected of us."

The whole conversation, and the comments are really interesting.

I see this in all aspects of my life. In the business world, I see a lot of women knocking other women's choices so that they can get ahead -- we've all been told there's only room for so many women at the top, and we all want to be that woman. In my mommy world, what can I say about the so-called mommy wars that hasn't already been said? Look no further than the forums on mothering.com to see the grown up version of girl-on-girl hate. And in the blogosphere, in the fashion and fat acceptance blogs I follow, every so often an argument erupts that devolves into meanness and pettiness before the "sides" are even done making their opening statements. Why does this happen?

I'm sure there are numerous psychological reasons for this, but I know that my own cattiness is largely the insecurity flavor. When I feel bad about how I look, I am more judgmental and look around to try and find someone lower in the pecking order than me. As long as I am not the fattest, oldest, slowest, dumbest, whatever -est that's bugging me that day, I am okay, passable. When I feel guilty about being a work slacker, I find someone to pick on (in my head: I'm not that big of an asshole) who is a bigger fuck up than me. When I'm feeling guilty about my parenting, I try and find some example of somebody who is clearly deranged like a Susan Smith person, and think, "well, compared to that, letting Z eat Cheerios off the bathroom floor probably is not so bad in the grand scheme of things." And when I feel like I'm the shittiest wife ever, I remember the first Mrs. YG and make a mental list of reasons of why I am superior to her.

Maybe not everyone does this kind of shit, but I sure do, and it makes me feel like an asshole. And I never end up feeling better for that long. I end up feeling worse -- bad about whatever I was feeling bad about to begin with and even more bad for being immature and insecure.

On the flip side, when I am nice to myself, I am nice to others. I have long believed that I would never treat a friend as shitty as I treat myself, would never hold them to such impossible standards, and when I manage to give myself a break, I tend to appreciate everyone else around me too. Imagine that.

Today, or well the 2.5 hours left of today, I'm going to stop being so judgey.

4th of July Weekend in List Form

1. Two seven mile runs along the Charles
2. 100 miles on the bike for YG
3. One essay edited
4. One book nearly finished (reading, that is)
5. Two trips to JP Licks
6. One dinner on the porch
7. One nap on the blanket in our backyard
8. Mass meat consumption
9. Zygote's first turn on the Swan Boats
10. One fabulous view of the Esplanade from the Red Line
11. Zygote's first turn on the carousel at the Common, and a dip in Frog Pond

12. One happy birthday to my mom
13. One happy birthday to USA! USA!
14. One dip in the lake with Zygote
15. Two servings of homemade risotto
16. A beyond-count amount of Miller High Life
17. One concert: She & Him at House of Blues
18: Listening to She & Him album: multiple
19: Smiles: multiple
20: Rest: multiple

Another Non Expert (Read: Me) Weighs in on The BP Oil Spill

My opinion? The BP oil spill is all of our faults.

We're now going on to months (plural) of hearing about the barrels of oil that are spilling into the Gulf of Mexico. First, there were the stories about facts -- how events were unfolding and all the failed attempts at fixes. Then, we move on to the impact stories and the hearings on Capitol Hill and the congressmen looking very serious about getting answers. And now, of course, we're in the blame game portion of our news cycle. Depending on where you fall on the political spectrum, you can find a way to blame the spill on Obama, the Republicans, big corporations, greed, and I'm sure the Buchanans and the Robinsons and their ilk will somehow find a way to link this to the evil women and gays who God is punishing. If it wasn't so scary (HELLO, there is a ton of oil leaking into the environment!), the whole media routine would laughable. But it's not. It's predicatable.

We all want somebody to blame. But this is what happens when you keep trying to take, take, take from a finite resource. You hit a wall eventually. When you think you can continue to just steal and plunder natural resources for your own use and/or profit, without any thought or examination of the consequences, you (and I mean the big cultural 'you') are going to meet your match eventually. Naomi Klein (who is my girlfriend in my Second Life where we are a power lesbian couple fighting the man through great journalism) wrote about this recently in her Guardian column, Gulf Oil Spill: A Hole in the World. She writes:

"This Gulf coast crisis is about many things – corruption, deregulation, the addiction to fossil fuels. But underneath it all, it's about this: our culture's excruciatingly dangerous claim to have such complete understanding and command over nature that we can radically manipulate and re-engineer it with minimal risk to the natural systems that sustain us. But as the BP disaster has revealed, nature is always more unpredictable than the most sophisticated mathematical and geological models imagine. "

Look, I'm not a tree hugger. I drive a big car and I love my AC, and I don't use cloth diapers or compost. Sometimes I even forget to recycle. But as an individual, I try to offset what bad choices I make by making better choices in other areas -- using only energy efficient appliances, eating locally, not driving if I can walk or take public transportation, etc. Why is this so hard for corporations to do this? It's basic common sense -- you take, you give back.

Side note: You can spare me the profit arguments. In the case of the oil companies and drilling and needing new sources of revenue -- please. I feel fairly confident that the demand for oil is not going to demand anytime soon. You'll still get paid. Don't worry.

I find it disheartening that people are hoping to find someone to blame so that we can fix this issue quickly and move on to the next BIG THING to freak out about (is anyone still talking about Haiti? Or H1N1? Or whatever last year's crisis was?) We want this to pass too and go away. But there is no quick fix here.

For a first hand account of what's happening in the Gulf, go check out my friend, Terry's web page, describing what it was like to be back in his hometown in Louisiana and seeing how everyone has already been affected. People's whole way of life is disappearing, and there's really not a damn thing we're able to do about it.

So what to do? My woefully uneducated answers. In the near term, stop and contain the oil. I cannot believe this is even still an issue, but it is. Help the people who can't work and pay their claims. Long term, I can't think of a better example of why we need to either find renewable energy sources and more sustainable ways of doing business. And if I put on my "communications professional" hat, there needs to be a massive public education campaign around why this matters and how they are connected.

I’m Going Back to New York City…I Do Believe I’ve Had Enough

First it was Lou Reed. Now it’s Bob Dylan on repeat, and not a whole song, but just those New York City lyrics over and over.

I was back in Manhattan earlier this week for a business trip, and I cannot believe I am actually going to type these words – it was the first time in about two years that I was in the city. I’ve been in the Bronx for games and Brooklyn to visit friends and Staten Island to visit my dad at work, but everyone knows “the city” is Manhattan. And I was long gone from it.

Flying into LaGuardia, it’s hard not to be blown away from the view of the skyline. I’ve traveled all over, but New York’s skyline is still the most beautiful to me. You can see it from certain places in New Jersey, and as a kid (and teenager and college student and young adult), I always imagined myself living there. I was going to work at a coffee shop downtown during the day, and work on my novels at night. This gradually morphed into working at a magazine during the day, working at the same coffee shop (now shoppe and filled with eclectic New York characters) at night, and working on my novels in my free time. This vision was so prevalent and all-encompassing that I never really dreamt up an alternate plan, and that’s why you’ll still find me in my temporary career twelve years later. I was at an event with YG at MIT a few weeks ago, chatting with a few other PR people, and they nodded their head in recognition of this vision. One guy noted, “You don’t have to explain it to me. I majored in philosophy.”

I never did live in the city. I visited plenty, and I lived in my grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn for a few months, but I was a tourist, a bridge and tunneler. I am from that place that dare not speak its name.

Still, I always think of New Jersey and the city as “home.” I moved to Massachusetts four years ago, but I’ve never really referred to it as my home. My brother probably feels the same. Home is home, and that’s just the way it is.

But, dudes, New York City has CHANGED. I felt so discombobulated by some things. Times Square has been pedestrianized, and there’s talk of building more of those plazas elsewhere. We were staying in Union Square, and while that was exactly how I remembered it, right down to all the restaurants, our waiter told me that Union was going to be the next to be plaza-ed. We ate dinner at Spice Market in the meat packing district and while we were waiting for the rest of the team to arrive, my friend, L, and I sat outside on some benches watching locals and upscale suburbanites, enjoying the weather. I was stunned that we were sunning ourselves in the middle of an area that I remember being sort of a shit hole, and even more stunned after dinner, when we walked the High Line, the new-to-me public park built on a defunct railway between 10th and 11th Aves. It was a perfect night weather-wise, and I couldn’t believe I was sniffing flowers and lying on a chaise lounge in the middle of New York.

How to describe it? A deluge of different feelings. Amazement to see such a great use of public space. Relief that some places like Magnolia haven’t changed a bit. And a little bit of sadness that I am now more of a tourist than I ever was. I’m just a visitor. I get to appreciate everything the city has to offer, but as a pilgrim, not a dweller. That’s weird.

And then before I could let that sink in, I was back here. Back to my new home. I took a cab from the airport and we drove down Storrow Drive, watching all the sailboats and rowers on the Charles, with the runners and strollers on the Esplanade. They’re setting up for the 4th of July celebration, and I remembered last year, watching it from home, singing patriotic songs to my 3-week old baby. This is the only home she knows, will probably be my home for the foreseeable future, and I’m happy to be back.

And Lou Reed Was Playing In My Head On Repeat

Yesterday was the perfect day. A mid-year course correction. Since I went back to work, I have been using Writing Fridays for house-wifely items, and yesterday was the first time in a long while that I actually had the entire day to write. I had dropped off Zygote and got the grocery shopping done all by the time I usually get to work. I drove to Walden Pond, and alternated between reading and writing all day, only breaking to eat some fruit and swim for a half hour. I finished an essay, started another one and did some free-write exercises. Warm, freckly, perfect.

What I DO Give A Shit About

So yesterday was one of those days.


Image courtesy of Hyperbole and A Half

I was whining to a coworker about how I don't give a shit about technology and I don't give a shit about corporations and I don't give a shit about profit and loss unless it's my own and how really, I don't give a shit in general. Most of this was brought on by lack of sleep and watching the documentary, The Corporation, which was great, by the way, but not the right thing to watch when you are in a mood and feeling kind of ick about your place in the whole corporate world. Especially the segment on PR and all its YOU GET TO BE THE MOUTHPIECE OF THE CORPORATION YAY YOU stuff.

Anyway, it got me thinking about the key question in all that ranting and raving -- what do I actually give a shit about? So I made a list because that is what I do when I am feeling ick. A list of things that I get all frothy and passionate about.

Things JM Gives A Shit About In No Particular Order

* Zygote
* YG
* Family and friends
* FCC
* Women's Rights: yes, this is all encompassing but work/life balance, gender inequality, abortion rights, moms' rights, etc.
* Body Image
* The politics of health and fat/Health at Any Size/nutrition
* Running/exercise
* The corporatization of the whole fucking world
* Living Simply
* Parenting
* Fashion and style, and not in the New York Times way
* Literature -- mostly the reading of, not the critiquing of
* Music -- appreciation of, not making

These are the things that usually get me to stop and pay attention, and I'm not quite sure how to take the things I care about and turn them into something I can do for a living. I am good at my job, and I like the choices and flexibility it gives me on most days, but I'm never going to be GREAT at my job because in the end, I don't give a shit. I am not creating art in the world (and yes I know that sounds all 'I wear all black and care about womyn' but bear with me). I create spin, and while it's good, I'm just not sure it matters.

I thought it would be different when I moved to Massachusetts. While I have a number of reasons I publicly state for coming here, it really was a great escape and I did it because I wanted to change everything that wasn't working. For the most part, I did. I absolutely love where I live and I love my simplified lifestyle, and I can't figure out a way to say this that is not vomit-inducing, so I will just say that I absolutely love my husband. Those things are all GREAT. But I'm still struggling to figure out my place in the world. To figure out what I should be doing with all the immense privileges that I do have. I don't feel I put that privilege to good use, and right now, I want to be open to well, anything. I found myself recently journaling about "when we move to San Francisco..."(which wouldn't be until MG went to college anyway, so we're talking years), and all the escapist fantasies that come with that. And then I knew that it's time to stop fucking around and figure out how to make myself useful. Advice welcome.

Fun With Keywords (Or How You Find Me)

Google Analytics can be pretty addictive. I like to check in every once in a while to see what's going on and imagine who you, dear reader, actually are. I actually know some of you in "real" life, but I'm more curious about the folks that just lurk and read like I do on a good many people's blogs.

And oh my god, do I love the keywords!

The vast chunk of you get here by searching for "the fantasy of being thin" and that's probably because I refer back to that post so many times. The real Fantasy of Being Thin was written by Kate Harding and is here and you should go read it RIGHT NOW. It was a defining piece for me, but alas, I did not write it. Another big mess of you get here by searching for "like seriously?" or variations on that, and I assume this is because we have all lost the ability to communicate without sounding like Valley Girls.

My personal favorite searches are just the really weird and unexplainable shit. For a while there, "swinging testicles" might have been my all-time favorite, but new contenders include:

* "i need something that could make last , when i am doing sex , i am coming too soon ."
When I am doing sex makes me very happy.

* "knee socks"
More random than anything. Who searches for knee socks and then stays here? Oh, it's my compelling prose!

* "seriously how to grow boobs"
Very serious, indeed. Nothing to joke about there with the growing of the boobs.

* "that teenager persists, when these songs materialize over the speaker systems in department stores or reworked as television-commercial soundtracks"
I like this sentence. I wish I had wrote it. It's from Fatshionista. I cannot imagine typing that entire thing into Google. You are a very specific searcher.

Tell me about you.

Not Buying It

I am amazed by the bloggers that manage to have full-time jobs, families, and scads of well-articulated essays. Here's how my week usually goes. I go to work and eat my lunch at my desk. This is designated Blog Time, where I read through the blogs I follow and attempt to shovel in food at the same time. I usually send links to my personal account with subject lines like "For Blog" or "Write This Topic" or "Think" with the idea that I am going to go home, eat a meal, spend quality time with kid and husband, read all the books that are piling up on the bookshelf, and then write some brilliant essay based on someone else's post, and then get to bed in time to get 8 hours of sleep. Yeah, right.

If I ever do anything with the links, it's usually more of a Link Love post with a message that says, "they said it better than me."

That being said, I have been thinking about this post, Why We Buy, over at Cat's Meow for a while. The sermon at church today discussed our culture of conspicuous consumption and how even so-called Christians base decisions about the life of the church on money and status. It reminded me that I wanted to write something about this.

I took a big paycut after I went back to work post maternity leave, so that I would have a day free to spend with Zygote and to write and to basically do all the housework things that don't get done when they are not part of someone's job description (grocery shopping, dry cleaning, pediatrician appointments, etc). Before Z, I was aware that a disproportionate amount of my money goes to clothes and books, keeping my hair a shade of "natural" red, remaining hairless and drinking lots of wine. In other words, grooming and being selfish. I've had to cut back drastically, but I still notice that I am surrounded by clutter, STUFF. This was the impetus for the outfit project and this month's "no clothes or books" project.

Cat's Meow asked the question,

"So, why DO we buy stuff we don't need, like that much, or possibly even afford?
And why, for goodness' sake, do we clean up, and then go and buy more useless stuff to fill the empty space?"

That's it, isn't it? The why. I know that I'm capable of saving money when I need to, and I have never used a credit card to pay for "fun" purchases, but I get serious, clear out, and then replace everything. Editorial note: the day last month's shopping ban was over, I bought a bunch of new jewelry and dresses at the Ann Taylor outlet. Same DAY people. And yes, I may make hilarious fun of the Dwell kids on Unhappy Hipsters, but my main reaction is fascination: Where is all their stuff? You know, the books, the piles of shoes, messy magazines, cds....where is it?

The explanations that most resonated with me were:

-We feel insecure and uncertain in the world and what the future will bring, so we buy "for the future". Like the world is going to run out of stuff soon and we need to hoard a "safety net".

I am a multiples buyer. Almost all the time. Just in case the world ever stops manufacturing the cotton underwear I like, I have enough to last me for the next couple of years. Same with gym socks. If you are ever having a gym sock emergency, call me.

- We like to project an image of a person we wish we were, say bohemian, artsy, intellectual, sporty, adventurous.. through our belongings, clothing and home decor.

I have lots of "on writing" books.

-We think that the knowledge from the books we own magically "belongs" to us if we just own the books. Buy the book, be smarter. Lose the books, lose the information they contain. (Hey, anyone heard of libraries and the internet?)

Our books situation is a bit out of control. We have boxes of books in the basement that were never unpacked and shelves just bursting from the weight of my books. Now we have a shelf re-arranger (read: Zygote) so all of those books end up strewn all over the floor. I always said that I buy books because I like to write in them and take notes (true), and then I can refer back to them when I want to write about a quote that stayed with me (also true). But I think Cat's Meow's explanation hits closer to home. It's been so long since I've had any kind of real creative work, and/or intellectual stimulation. I think that all the reading I do about topics outside of my daily realm help prove to myself that hey, look, I can be smart and that I do know things.

-We are depressed and use shopping as an escape.

I do not do this anymore, I think, but it's been a habit that was hard to break. I still have clothes with tags on them and unworn shoes and unread books that I bought when I was seperated from my first husband. When he was away in treatment, I would visit on the weekends and then hit a different outlet mall every time on my ride back. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't drink. I would just buy things.

-We are happy and want to celebrate by buying ourselves a gift.

Also known as: Stay Away From Anthropologie.

-We are bored and entertain ourselves by shopping.

Same as above. During the seperation time, if I had not made plans with a friend or my family, I would wander around the mall and buy things to make up for the fact that I had nothing else to do. The JCrew sales girl knew my name, and I will always remember her fondly because she never brought up the fact that I spent most Saturday nights during that time, alone in the mall, eating at Starbucks for dinner.

-We buy in to the subconscious idea that happiness is just one purchase away. After you get that one thing, it's still just one purchase away. We think, "if only I had a bigger home", "if only I had a better car", or that fabulous couch, that awesome outfit, the perfect pair of jeans, flattering shade of lipstick, and on and on.

This is a little bit like The Fantasy of Being Thin, but with shopping.

So what do I do with all this information? I'm not quite sure. I'm still trying to institute a ban on "extras." YG doesn't think that I have a spending problem, but it feels like it's about more than the money. I really do want to try and simplify things, make do with less, de-clutter, blah, blah, blah. I don't NEED anything right now. I worry about what happens to all my stuff when I'm done with it. I worry about raising another generation of conspicuous consumers. And I'd like to keep the money I make for me. And so on.

Like:This Is Why I Will Never Be An Adult

Everyone on Facebook has been linking to the exceptionally brillaint, Hyperbole and A Half post, This Is Why I Will Never Be And Adult. I don't think there has been anything written in recent history that better describes my state of being.


Image: Hyperbole and a Half

Zygote is sleeping, YG is riding, and here I am, typing and thinking:



Thank you, Allie. I don't know who you are, but I like you, like you.

Live Blogging (Maybe): Celtics v. Lakers Game 7

I had some serious posts planned, but this could be more fun. Assuming I don't run out of battery power, here we go.

* I am 12 years old. Every time someone talks about someone's stroke, I giggle.
* I still don't like Charles Barkley. Why is he in every commercial on tv?
* I love you, Dos Equis man, the most interesting man in the world.
* There is a rumor that Pau Gasol is gay. Not with that neck hair, me thinks.
* My mother refers to Lamar Odom as the guy "married to that fat Kardashian."
* Love that they put the Great White Hope in for a few seconds in the end of the first half. Call me, Brian. We can do yoga together.
* YG just gave me a wet willy when I made fun of the Red Sox for only winning 6 World Series. He claimed the right number was 8. The right answer is 7.
* Jeff Van Gundy -- the most photogenic announcer on tv.
* "High tension situation" -- no shit.
* It's Rondo Time.
* 1 million dollars an hour = 8,760,000,000 dollars a year, per YG. In response to Toyota commercial.
* I remember Ray Allen when he played for UConn. It's been a long time since we graduated.
* Lots of profanity. 13 point lead. I love when you catch these guys mouthing "MOTHAFUCKA!"

So far. Signing off at 10:45 p.m.

Feminist Chicks -- Being A Woman Does Not Automatically Mean You Are A Feminist

Since I spent the vast majority of last week navel gazing and reminiscing about Z's birth, I totally missed everything going on in the world of politics. So, Carly Fiorina is now the GOP candidate for US Senate in California, making bitchy comments about her opponents hair and everything in between. Much has been written about Fiorina's disastorous run at HP, but people seem to forget where she was prior to HP.

My first job out of college was writing articles for the employee newsletter of the "Global Service Provider Networks Group" at a huge corporation. That group, later renamed the much-sexier Service Provider Networks Group, was run by Carly. During that time, she was named Number One on Fortune's Most Powerful Women in Business list. The rumor mill at big companies is always nuts, but nothing out of the ordinary. I had no axe to grind with her until she decided to move on to HP and made some dumb-ass comment about how it proved that there obviously "no glass ceiling anymore." Right. I was sitting in a conference room full of women watching Carly say this on tv -- these were women who had attended her meetings, written her speeches, distributed her news, planned her itineraries and the silence was deafening. My boss, an African American woman with two kids, was the first, and I believe, only, to speak, saying, "well, that's news to me."

I've pretty much loathed her ever since, but at the same time, am freakishly fascinated.

Red Vinyl Shoes post, Feminist Does Not Mean "Strong Woman," is an amazing read.

"These women are part of a new wave of conservative feminism, which apparently views women’s advancement in the workplace and politics to be the most important tenet of actual feminism. Basically, these conservative feminist leaders have decided that the advancement of women to the upper echelons of business — something they have already achieved — is what feminism should really be about. Behind the complicated, self-invalidating beliefs pairing the “right to life” with an exhortation to protect women and children and their token glorification of the homemaker is just the basic white feminist desire to finally reach that level of equality with men in regards to power and most importantly, privilege. Once the smoke clears, wealthy conservative feminist candidates will likely discontinue the rhetoric exalting homemaking as one of the most important things a woman can do. By opposing ideas like subsidized child care, access to birth control, and legal abortion, these women will actually make things worse for any homemaker not privileged by race and wealth."

As a white woman who has spent all of her career in corporate America, I feel very conflicted about what it means to be a business leader and what sacrifices I would have to make to go further. I know that I am lucky in my achievements. I respect the women who have achieved more than I have, but I do not believe that becoming the leader of a multinational corporation means that all women have suddenly become equal, and there's no need for a feminist movement anymore. As I said before about Sarah Palin, it really fucking disturbs me, though, that people are falling for it.

Overcoming Performance Anxiety

Yesterday's showdown with the cupcake was a bust. Poor kid was surrounded by paparazzi and just stared at it. Tonight was a different story. She is bouncing off the walls now.

June 11: One Year Old

June 11, 2009: 11:47 a.m.



June 11, 2010: around 9:30 a.m.



Happy Birthday, Z!

Nostalgia Train

On this day last year, I was in labor. Zygote will be one tomorrow. In a nutshell, this has been a fast, exhilarating, terrifying, educational, sleep-deprived whirlwind of a year.

Of course, I have been all about the reflecting this week on her birth story, and I recently told a work colleague that I was really starting to LIKE spending time with Zygote, that she was fun and smart and that this was very different from the ferocious mother love you feel. Of course, I love my child. But now, I’m enjoying watching her discover new things and play games. I would choose to be with her even if I didn’t have to be.

This is different from those early, hazy, sleepless days. When she was born, I was thrilled to see her, but the thing I felt the most was this overwhelming sense of responsibility. And fear. A this-is-it-welcome-to-the-big-show-youre-an-adult-now-don’t-fuck-this-up inner monologue was on constant repeat. Looking back, it’s obvious that there were a number of factors contributing to that. Zygote was born when YG was still dizzy and recovering from his hearing loss. My labor was extremely long (30+ hours.woot!) and painful (back labor.woot!) followed by major abdominal surgery (C-section.woot!). MG and YG got sick with the flu right after Z was born, so they couldn’t be near her and the medication that Z had to take made her cry pretty much 24-7 for two weeks. Then MG got appendicitis and had to have surgery. And I had some pretty bad postpartum depression that required medication.

But at the time, I wasn’t able to see how all of that may have contributed to my totally fragile emotional state. I wasn’t really seeing anything. I was just living one long continuous day and FEELING everything. I remember sitting in my doctor’s office, filling out a form that asked questions like, “Do you feel you have lost the ability to be happy?” I couldn’t stop crying, and I tried to take as long as possible to answer the questions so I could delay having to go home, to have to go back to THAT PLACE, where everyone needed me. I like being alone. I was not, and to some extent still am not, used to all this contact. I was also convinced, deep in my core, that YG was going to leave me if he got even a whiff of vulnerability from me. It sucked.

Prior to birth, I had referred to my maternity leave as “my summer off.” I thought it was going to be all mommy play dates and beers on the patio and going to museums and writing with my beautiful, snoozing infant in her eco-friendly sling. What a load of crap! When I realized that all I would be doing for the first few weeks was choosing what chair to nurse in next, I was overwhelmed by grief. Every little task like picking up the dry cleaning or emptying the dishwasher or even taking a shower took on monumental significance – I had to prove that I could accomplish SOMETHING or else everything would come crumbling down.

It was over a month before I even attempted grocery shopping, and because I am a glutton for punishment, we went to Costco. Zygote screamed the entire time, while I angrily shoved the cart around the store, and a teenage girl and her mother gaped at me wehn they caught me hissing, “Jesus Christ, will you shut the fuck up already?” The next day, during an epic screaming fit and a diaper change that resulted in shit all over the wall, I bit Zygote’s leg. Not hard, but enough that she stopped the crying to notice. I didn’t know what else to do. I gave up. I had zero confidence in my ability to function as a normal human with the capability to love. I longed to go back to work (this should scream DANGER if you know me), but at the same time, wondered how the hell people managed to have anything left over for their jobs or really, anything besides the baby. YG told me that we would cross that bridge when we needed to, which I interpreted, of course, as “get your shit together. I’ve done Crazy once. I’m not doing it twice, and if you can’t get it together, I’m leaving you and this kid and hightailing it to San Francisco.”

I don’t know what the turning point was. There was no magic bullet. It just started to suck less. Medication certainly helped, but it wasn’t the cure all I wanted it to me. I still had to feel and fumble my way through shit and I hated that. I started to ask for help. Made lunch dates with people. Accepted the offers of the pastoral care team at my church for company and conversation. Joined a mom’s group. Everyone recovered from their illnesses. The sun came out. I walked for miles every day, sometimes feeling like I was sleepwalking, but I discovered a bunch of new neighborhoods and watered our plants a lot. I learned how to nurse and read at the same time, despite Dr.Sear’s (AAAAAH) advice that I should savor every moment of our bonding time. Barf. I read good and bad books, sometimes out loud. I wrote a teeny tiny bit. And I watched the entire My So-Called Life series again. Twice.

Zygote started smiling and knowing who I was. I started to realize that I knew how to comfort her. We went away for two weeks at the beach. YG and I spent two nights away in Atlantic City. We started to figure out a new normal.

I went back to work. I’m trying to figure out the dreaded “work/life balance,” but I’ll be forever grateful to my kid for giving me some perspective. My mom stayed with us for a month and then YG’s sister sat for Z before she started daycare. We trusted our instincts and switched her to a different daycare within a month. Words cannot express how much I love it.

We did Christmas in New Jersey. We did her first snowy winter in New England. YG and I each survived a week on our own with Z when the other had to go away on business. Nothing quite beats seeing that shock of crazy hair and toothy grin, when you’re stumbling up the front steps after a particularly hideous red eye. We did Easter in Florida, and our first family trip to Disney. I did not wear white sneakers. Or a visor. We did MG’s 11th birthday on a Spirit of Boston cruise. We survived.

But it was more than survival. We got to know one another. To like one another. We learned how to be a family of four. I started to learn how to be a mom. I made several attempts at cooking. I learned that I still really, really, really LIKE my husband.

To use corporate speak, I am continuing to work on my “areas for development” like patience and patience and patience. And I am becoming more confident in my abilities to not totally screw this kid up. In fact, I think I may be able to teach her a thing or two.

Happy Birthday, Z, one day early. Love, Mama.

Another Lost Child

My brain is mush. I am thinking of sweet Pearl and how unfair it is to have another friend lose a child. Logical me knows that there is no rhyme or reason to why accidents happen, but in my heart, I am sad and angry and afraid. I am so sick of the universe throwing lost children, miscarriages, infertility, autism at my friends. This seems like a childish rant, but that's where I am right now. Shaking. I feel blessed to have what I have, but so fucking angry about what's been taken away from others. I am thinking of you, MM, and keeping your family in my prayers.

Heavy Rotation

M.Ward is usually on heavy rotation around these parts, and (500) Days of Summer reminded me how much I like Zooey Deschanel, so I downloaded the newest She & Him album. It's been on repeat all day. This clip is old, but I love it.