Reading, Watching, Eating

I had written out this entire post before, but then our Mac -- you know, the machine that never fails -- failed big time and I lost the entire thing. I'm sure the previous version was infinitely more brilliant.

READ
1. The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy -- I heard a piece about this on NPR's summer reading series a few years ago, and it was collecting dust on the shelves for a while. It's one of those books that comes and goes every few years. It seemed worth the wait. Reviewers called it effervescent and charming, and I thought it was quick, light airy lead. While the narrator is sort of a flaky cross between Holly Golightly and Carrie Bradshaw, you want to stick with her as she traipses around Europe in her early twenties. The descriptions of Paris were lovely, and it reminded me of taking overnight trains through France and Spain, and thinking that was what the rest of my life was going to be like.

2. Lessons from the Fat-o-sphere: Quit Dieting and Declare a Truce with Your Body by Kate Harding and Marianne Kirby -- I bought this when it first went on sale because I wanted to see it do well, and I've been following Shapely Prose and The Rotund for years now. I felt like I already knew a lot of stuff in the book because I've been reading for so long, but I still found it an informative and hilarious read. I love both of their writing voices, so I found it enjoyable. Plus, rereading the chapters on cognitive dissonance resonated since I've been hovering in that place for oh, years -- knowing that diets don't work and that fat doesn't necessarily equal unhealthy, but still wishing I was a little bit smaller. And still sometimes thinking that I would be a brand new fucking me if I lost a few pounds.

3. The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve -- I can't remember how or when I bought this. I'm not typically into the Oprah's Book Club stuff, so I'm guessing this was on one of those Buy 2, Get 1 Free tables at Borders. It was a quick read and enjoyable -- I tried to put it away for a few days because reading a book about a husband dying in a fiery crash right before your own husband heads to Europe on a bunch of flights for a week tends to get the head cake going . But I couldn't. I wanted to know what happened. It ends up being a little Lifetime movie-ish, but who doesn't enjoy that shit every once in a while?

4. The Tyranny of E-mail: The Four-Thousand-Year Journey to Your Inbox by John Freeman -- Pretty much what I expected. I always read these books thinking that someone will have a cure for the 400 emails a day problem, but nobody does. It was well researched, and I really enjoyed the historical chapters on the telegraph, postcard, and telephone.

WATCHED
1. Up In The Air -- So, I had assumed this was a comedy, and holy crap was I wrong. It was brilliantly acted by the entire cast, but it made me SAD, SAD, SAD.

2. (500) Days of Summer -- This is pretty much the formula for my perfect movie. Quirky cute lead actors in a low-key romcom with lots of music by The Smiths. Thoroughly enjoyable. And yes, I bought the soundtrack.

3. Lost finale -- I watched it again, and I loved it. I always thought this show was an extended Bible story, and unlike most people, I hated when all the time travel/scifi shit was introduced. Yes, there were loose ends, but the redemption arc was beautiful and I cried like a freakin' baby when they all started realizing what had happened.

4. Biggest Loser finale -- We used to be fairly religious about this show because it was the only thing that the MG could watch that YG and I could get into to. It's cheesy and sentimental and sometimes horrifying, but we liked it. Now, I'm not so sure. I enjoyed the finale because one of the nice guys won, but I think this show is really jumping into spectacle territory -- 400lbs twins! The sickest man EVER! 500lb man! It feels too exploitative and is uncomfortable to watch. Undecided if we'll take in the next season.

EATING
YG is away on a business this week, and this strikes fear in my heart because it makes me responsible again for my own nutritional needs (read: cooking). I lived on my own for years, so it's not like I'm going to starve to death, but in the past, my "dinners" usually consisted of Lean Cuisine or a decaf latte and pound cake, or if I was feeling really creative (read: inclined to turn on stove), I would make oatmeal. Now, I'm trying to make a conscious effort to eat less processed foods, so I did have a few moments of thinking that I might indeed starve to death this week. We don't really have the type of money to eat every meal out, and with an infant, my choices are sort of limited anyway. So, I embarked on adventure to do two things I pretty much hate to do -- grocery shopping and cooking.

For the week, I picked up a rotisserie chicken and a lot of salad, along with tons of fruit that I could share with Zygote. I also bought tons of avocados since we've gotten quite good at making guacamole and it works great as a spread for the condiment-phobic like myself.

Then I cooked up a bunch of quinoa for main dishes and sides for lunch. I've gotten pretty good at the quinoa too, and have two recipes that I like. One is quinoa with avocado, corn, tomato and black beans, and the other mixes in cannellini beans, roasted red peppers and asparagas (I made it with green beans when YG and MG were around since they won't touch asparagas). I'm sure I will quinoa-ed out by the end of the week, but I figure it's way better than being Chipotle-d out or Hostess cupcaked out.

Editor's note: I haven't gotten over all my bad habits, though. Dinner the first night YG was away consisted of three cupcakes and a beer on the couch.

Marriages, Gores, Whatnot

YG left tonight for a week-long business trip in Europe. I'm already back to my old habits of wearing sweatpants and eating cupcakes and beer for dinner, while desperately hoping that there is an old episode of America's Next Top Model on somewhere. I like my husband, and I do not like it when he is gone. I hope this bodes well for our future.

Everyone is abuzz about the news of Al and Tipper Gore breaking up. My friend, Casey, has a good blog up on Double X about this and why so many people want answers. I totally agree with her assessment that it hits too close to home. The Gores seemed like they had a normal, if a little bit gooey (ew gross, mom and dad are making out), relationship, and nobody, including me, wants to hear that you can live with someone for the bulk of your adult life and just get tired of them. They were together 40 years! I haven't even been ALIVE 40 years.

I would like to believe that if you choose your partner well, that you can be happy with them in 10, 20, 30 years. It's important to keep changing and growing, and hopefully the person you change into is someone your partner likes and vice versa. Marriage is basically a leap of faith. I did this once before, and all my faith couldn't make that one work. I leapt again, and I think I made a wiser choice.

And I can spew that "wisdom," but still deep down want assurances that it's all going to work out in the end. That I'll be one of the lucky ones who still likes her husband and he still likes her and we support each other's careers and then we have a gaggle of brilliant and wickedly funny kids that cart us off to a really swank Assisted Living facility somewhere warm. I want to KNOW. I want to stop hearing about "late stage divorces," because it's just depressing, man. Starter marriage divorces you can blame on youth and stupidity, but when I keep hearing about these Gore divorces, all I can think is that if you live long enough, everyone must start to get on your nerves on the end.

Gah. Sad stuff. I have to think about bunnies or marshmellows or something fluffy now.

Slutty Fatties: And What To Do With My Life

Last week, MSNBC ran an article, Heavy Girls Likelier To Have Sex Early. This is the kind of article that just makes my head want to explode because the reporting is just so terrible. You get references to a medical study boiled down into a couple of easily digestible talking points. Taking complex shit and making it somewhat understandable by spinning it into 2 or 3 key messages is what I do for a living, so I can't bitch about that too much. But medical research is complex and we all know the media is in love with finding NEW! and INTERESTING! ways to demonize fat, so this one just makes me bristle. It manages to combine fat hate and misogyny and victim blaming all in one. Nice.

Tiger Beatdown has probably the best analysis of this and why it's so incredibly fucked up, that I've ever read. Seriously, I know I am a little crazy with the link love, but this is one you should read.

Points that jumped out at me:

"When you are in the pre-teen era, you spend a lot of time looking to adults to figure out how you should behave, because you are just beginning to become aware of changes in your body that mean you will be an adult within a few years! And holy shit! And guess what — the adults around you are constantly obsessing about their own weight. And yours. Because, since it is the responsibility of parents to decide what their kids eat, and there are a million narratives about how if you don’t eat right you will get fat, parents are looking for your not-fatness as a way to verify that they haven’t completely fucked up as parents. "

When I write a memoir, that could be the inside jacket.

"2. Here is what you learn very early, as a young woman prone to fatness, even before puberty: My body is bad. My body is disgusting. My body is something for me to fight against. My body will not cooperate with my desire to be thin. My body is a disappointment to the people around me. I hate how all these studies and articles just assume as true that it is the natural order of things that fat girls will feel bad about themselves, as if this is, in fact, the proper way to view yourself when you are fat. No, this is not natural. This does not come from looking in the mirror. Girls are inculcated with messages that fatness is bad and that their bodies are their enemies. Loving your body is not option. That fatness-shame, combined with the puberty-shame of our puritanical, anti-woman, anti-sex culture, means that at the onset of puberty fat girls undergo deep, deep dissociation with their bodies. This happens to all kinds of girls, but especially fat girls.

3. On the other hand, you have all these anti-sex messages coming at you, hard and fast, which says, oh your body is a temple your body is special don’t just let anyone touch it, sex is only for true love blah blah blah. But those messages can’t take hold, because you’ve already been taught that your body is bad and disgusting and is your enemy because it does not conform to the beauty ideal (and, yes, I am sad to say, there is a beauty ideal even for twelve-year-old girls). And those message are working on the other girls, who think that they will devalue their bodies if they get intimate with boys. But for fat girls, your body is already devalued, and so, it’s kind of like: FUCK IT."

Wow. Just wow.

"5. Can we talk about how we automatically assume that having more than three partners as a teenage girl is automatically a bad thing? Because I don’t see why it has to be, except for in our narratives about how promiscuity is awful. It’s only awful because it’s supposed to be awful, and presto! You get slut-shamed out the wazoo for doing it. And then you do, in fact, feel awful, because slut-shaming sucks. But you also get slut-shamed for not doing it. As has been aptly covered by every feminist everywhere, you can end up a slut for completely perplexing reasons, like because you have a single mom, or because you have big breasts, or because of your race or ethnicity, or because of a rumor that might not even be close to true.

6. Fat girls are more likely to get labeled as sluts, because “slut” is a catch-all word for women and girls who do not conform to ladylike and womanly behavior, and being fat is definitely not lady-like or womanly behavior. And look, I can say from experience, if enough people are calling you a slut, you start to believe it. You’re 12! What do you know about what a slut is? And you are hitting puberty, and having all these sexual thoughts about boys, and thinking, okay, people are saying I am a slut so OBVIOUSLY this is not normal and there must be something deeply, deeply wrong with me. Perhaps after a while, you think, hey, if everyone is calling me a slut, I might as well go ahead and be one, because they sure as hell aren’t going to stop, are they?"

Also in my memoir: remember that time that the popular girls accused you of calling Queen Popular Bee Amy G. a slut, even though you had no clue what a slut actually was and you never actually spoke to Amy G because she was popular and you were not? And then they started calling you a slut even though you were in sixth grade and had never even held hands with a boy? Remember that? Good times.

"7. I really hate that female desire is just completely erased in that MSNBC article. It chaps my hide something fierce. Because if it is the case that fat girls go through puberty earlier, why do we say “they grow boobs, so boys pressure them to have sex” rather than “they go through puberty, so they have sexual desire earlier than other girls.” Why was that not even thought of as an explanation? No. NOT POSSIBLE! Teenage girls? Actually wanting sex or sexual activity? No, it must be the boys who are making them do it. Puberty happens because of a rapid hormonal shift in your body. Those hormones do all kinds of things: make you grow boobs, get your period, grow body hair, and START FEELING SEXUAL DESIRE. Yes, so the girls who go through puberty earlier will start feeling sexual desire earlier than other girls. But we couldn’t possibly advance that as an explanation because if girls engage in sexytime because they want to, rather than because boys force them to, it doesn’t fit into our nice little narrative about how girls are being ruined by sex, does it?"

Those crazy boys -- turning all us nice girls into whores.

I've been trying to read articles like this and others with a critical eye. I will give the MSNBC folks credit for actually interviewing the study author, as opposed to so-called experts who try and boil research down into talking points to advance their own agendas. I call this Meme Roth syndrome. Finding someone who was actually involved in the research is actually quite out of the ordinary.

And I'm also, like, trying to figure out something to do with my life (i.e. Operation: Please, for the love of God, let me get out of high tech). Given that I've never really come up with a plan beyond "be a writer," I am trying to find a way to pay the bills that doesn't make me want to feel all icky inside. I've been trying to find a way to combine what I know (corp comm) with shit I am interested in: clothes, feminism, religion, food, writing, babies, etc. I am a mile wide an an inch deep. In doing some research, i stumbled across this program at Tufts and perked up. According to the website, "Americans' top sources of nutrition information are magazines, television, newspapers, and the internet. The print, broadcast, and electronic media are constantly seeking professionally-trained nutritionists who can communicate effectively. The same is true of public relations agencies, the food industry, and health and fitness centers."

The cons first:
* I already have a Masters Degree.
* Did I mention I already have a Masters Degree?
* A second MA would cost a ton of money.
* Looking at the salaries of people who have graduated from this program, nearly half make between 50 and 71K a year.
* See above.
* Course titles include words like: Epidemiology, Biochemistry, Physiology. Words that I don't entirely understand. Words that sound like science. I always sucked at Science.
* Time.

The pros:
* It sounds interesting.
* Combines interesting with 'things I already know how to do.'
* School! Yay!

So, I sent an email and asked if I could come in for an info session. It may be cool, it may not be, but it may lead me on to something new, even if it's just a different type of extracurricular class. Based on the article above, there's clearly a need for critical thinking regarding how to report on nutrition research.

And then when I'm done and we have won the lotto again, I'm going to do this program.

Kind Of A Big Deal

2:41:44. Slower than my best pace, but c'mon, it was 90 degrees and 13.1 miles, and I never stopped. Full race recap to come. One way of getting through 13.1 miles is imagining how you're going to write it up.



And a super awesome playlist doesn't hurt either:

Three Little Birds Bob Marley
Fat Bottomed Girls Queen
Back In Black AC/DC
Loveshack B-52s
Breathe The Prodigy
No Sleep Till Brooklyn Beastie Boys
Born To Run Bruce Springsteen
Let The Cool Goddess Rust Away Clap Your Hands Say Yeah Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
London's Burning The Clash
Groove Is In The Heart Dee-Lite
Perfect Situation Weezer
Take Me To The Backseat The Donnas
Bright Future In Sales Fountains Of Wayne
American Idiot Green Day
Paradise City Guns N' Roses
Just Dance Lady GaGa & Colby O'Donis
Ace Of Spades Motörhead
The Seeker The Who
Just A Girl No Doubt
Solsbury Hill Peter Gabriel
Beverly Hills Weezer
Middle Of The Road The Pretenders
Firestarter The Prodigy
Portions For Foxes Rilo Kiley
We Will Rock You Queen
1979 Smashing Pumpkins
Sabotage Beastie Boys
Sugar Kane Sonic Youth
Baba O'Riley The Who
That's Not My Name The Ting Tings
Hash Pipe Weezer
Y Control Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Rosalita (Come Out Tonight) Bruce Springsteen
I'm The Man Who Loves You Wilco
Mamma Mia ABBA
Born In The U.S.A. Bruce Springsteen
Respect Aretha Franklin
Song 2 Blur
Love You Madly CAKE
I Want You To Want Me Cheap Trick
Jump Around House Of Pain

One Month's Worth of Outfits: Did I Learn Anything?

I started this little project on April 27 and took my last photo yesterday. It has been interesting, to say the least.

LESSON ONE:
I still have too many clothes, and/or I don't need any more clothes. Over the past few years, I have slowly (veeeery slowly) come to the realization that buying clothes is a wee bit addictive for me. If I am feeling down, I reward myself with a new dress. If I'm feeling like a fat sloth, I buy something that makes me look better (even though I probably have a bunch of 'you look nice' clothes already). If I feel old, I need to buy something that makes me look cute and hip. If I get a bonus, I "deserve" new clothes. And so on. There is something about buying something new that makes me feel like I have some fresh armor and can face the world.

Once I started being aware of this, I started culling the wardrobe. Throwing things away, making money at consignment shops like Poor Little Rich Girl and /Buffalo Exchange, and giving things to friends.

Still, in one month's worth of outfits, I only repeated sweaters TWICE. That's redonk. I still am confronted with this:



And this:



And this:



Did I mention that we (4 people) live in a 1200 square foot apartment? In the city? If I can't find anything to wear in this stash, the problem is not the clothes.

LESSON TWO
I pretty much know how to dress myself. I have watched enough episodes of What Not To Wear to know what works for my body. Fitting the smallest part with wrap dresses and belted pieces generally works best. Things that are not structured end up looking frumpy. I should painfully avoid anything that uses the word "flowy" as a descriptor.

I have an easier time with dresses because it's easier to fit my waist. Pants continue to elude me. When I look at the pictures from the last month, the pants outfits are always the ones that I like the least. I am still caught somewhere in the tweenie world between regular and plus sizes, and it shows. Either my pants are too big or I have the terror crotch.

LESSON THREE
I really need to find a tailor. See above.

LESSON FOUR
I still struggle with figuring out what my "style" as an adult is. My friend, APL, had a great comment on my denim skirt picture that noted, "I'm ultimately always just trying to recreate some great outfit I had in college. Fifteen years ago." I feel the same way a lot. While there are a multitude of outfits that I am mortified ever made it to the light of day (knee socks? black oxfords and socks with a dress?) in college and in the post-college years, I felt that I at least had a style that was my own. Most of my clothes right now are "work appropriate" and they come from stores like Ann Taylor and Banana Republic, so essentially, I look like everyone else. I don't know if this is necessarily a bad thing, but considering I spent most of my youth striving to look soooooo "alternative" (can you catch the eyes rolling back in my skull?), it just feels weird sometimes.

LESSON FIVE
I still have trouble accessorizing. I link to Already Pretty a lot because I love her shoes and jewelry, and through that site, I discovered Kendi Everyday. Both of these women have amazing style, and they can pull together clothes with the cutest accessories and bags. For example, I LOVE this outfit, and everything in it is stuff I can buy at places around her, but the way she pulled it together with the belt and the hair and shoes is just ADORBS!

Still, I'm learning. My work buddy, LT, is the jewelry goddess and she's teaching me about what I should and shouldn't wear with certain outfits. I channeled her when I bought this necklace, and I really liked the way the whole outfit turned out. My mom bought me that dress for my birthday a few years ago, and I thought it was too old looking, but um, maybe I am approaching 'too old.' Another woman I worked with said, "Did it make you so happy pulling that outfit on this morning? The necklace and the dress?" And yes, it did. It all came together and that was cool. I'll be reorganizing my jewelry to try and recreate that feeling.

LESSON SIX
File under: duh. You save a lot of money when you have a shopping ban. I pride myself on never buying anything full price and my thrifting and TJMaxxing skillz, but that adds up, and you end up with a closet full of cheap stuff. I spent only $26 on clothes in the past month and a half. I bought this dress which may have been a mistake style-wise, and an empire-waisted shirt at Buffalo Exchange for $6 because it fit perfectly. I have been tempted, but I keep reminding myself that it won't be the last great deal and I most likely don't need it (see Lesson One).

I am trying to commit to a second month of the ban, and will be extending that to books and shoes, as 6pm.com and their daily deals is going to be the death of me.

LESSON SEVEN
I am not fat. No shit, right? I can objectively look at those pictures and see a pretty normal sized person. This does not mean that I don't look at myself in that "oh, gross" sort of way more often than not, but seeing me in pictures just reaffirms that most of this stuff, as usual, is in my head.

That being said, I donated my entire lot of "when I lose the weight" clothes to Goodwill and some consignment jobs. I don't need a reminder of what I'm not. I need to be good with what I am.

LESSON EIGHT
I am prone to fits of conspicuous consumerism. I said more times than I care to repeat, "I bet these clothes would look a lot better if I had a nicer camera and better lighting." Not taking every picture in my bathroom might have helped with that too.

LESSON NINE
I can be really dumb sometimes. I'm in pretty good shape because of all this training for the half marathon. I don't think I lost any real weight, but some things are fitting looser. I spent half the day that I wore this outfit, fiddling with the pants and trying to keep them up, wondering if there was some kind of invention that would help keep them from ending up beneath my belly roll. Most people would refer to that invention as a belt.

LESSON TEN
The little things, like taking pictures of yourself in cute clothes, can sometimes be the mood booster you need. That, and Sam Summer.

Insane in the Membrane - I Remember High School -- Writing Things

So my first two weeks post-weaning are over, and now is the time when my hormones are supposed to level off and I return to the land of the living. Or the land of the not choking down Zoloft and wine and wishing I could go to sleep for three weeks. I have my fingers crossed. Zygote ended up with a double ear infection, so what would have been a trying couple of weeks anyway, have been peppered with baby tantrums and screaming and non-stop whining.

Things not to do when you are feeling like the above: watch the sobfest that is My Sister's Keeper. I really have no idea if this movie is actually good or just Lifetime good, but dying children and family dramas? Not the right day for that kind of stuff.

So I moved on to music. Or more specifically, I moved on to The Smiths and blog trolling. Have I mentioned my love of Fatshionista? It's one of my daily reads, and I love the clothes, and the other topics, and then I found out in the Globe that the blogger lives in the area, and I had one of my 'omg, we should totally be BFFs and you're going to think I'm really funny and we'll hang out and I'll love your clothes' inner monologues.

Anyway, Lesley wrote this great post “Spitting in a wishing well”: On music and adolescence and memory, and it was just the right read at the right time, and I spent some time doodling about all those weird high school memories. Her pull quotes followed by my stream-of-consciousness ramblings.

"There is backstory: when I was sixteen I decided that nearly everyone who went to my high school was terribly boring, not least because no one knew about the music I liked (never mind, for now, that I liked the music I liked to some extent because no one else knew about it) and the music I liked was, at the time, the single most important thing in my life. In retrospect my taste in music was hardly distinguished so much as it was intentionally obscure. At any rate, I went to every all-ages show I could afford — someday I’ll tell you the story of realizing a guy in the mosh pit at a Bad Religion show was in my class, and the devastating dismissal I received when I attempted to chat him up about the show in the hall at school the following day — searching for someplace different to belong. I was too soft and brainy for the punks; I wasn’t angular or awkward enough for the goths. What else was there?"

Right? I was so proud of myself for owning Nirvana's Bleach BEFORE THEY WERE COOL. Can you see me rolling my eyes? And the fact that I got to wear my cool, older boyfriend's Dead Milkmen concert t-shirt was too cool for school. Yeah, that boyfriend? He worked at a record store. You can't get much cooler than that. AND he went to a different school. Editorial note: he was actually a real person, not one of those "I have a girlfriend that lives in Canada" deals. When I went to college, I ran into someone from my high school (and by ran into, I mean, got really drunk with) who said, "What WERE you? I mean, you dressed like a punk. You listened to music. But you were in the smart kid classes." Story of my life.

"One of these friends was a year or two older than me, and she published zines about music. Remember zines? Midnight sojourns at Kinko’s making copies? Casual competition over who could discover the best new music first, and get credit for spreading it around? . . . . .Wednesday nights were open mic nights. I read poetry. Yes. I read high school poetry, embarrassing, trifling, self-righteous, loud. I did! "

Wait for it...I had a zine. Called 'The Sphincter.' Oh God. It was totally going to "be discovered." Kind of like my blog! And this wasn't high school, but in college, at Zopies, I read a really bad poem I wrote titled "Boy in The Yellow Sweater" about a guy that I drooled over, who was a poet with his own zine. And holy shit -- Zopies has a Facebook page! When I got married the first time, my mom threw me a shower and gave me this scrapbook that she made for me with a bunch of my poems that had been published in the school literary magazine. It was really sweet, but I am mortified that my fifteen-year-old self could take herself seriously enough to pen the following opener, "she sits in the silent darkness. Contemplating? Death." The shame.

"I also remember the newfangled girl-fronted music that was cropping up around then, and even today when I hear some of those songs, that forgotten teenager wakes up a little. I remember hearing Alanis Morrissette’s “You Oughta Know” for the first time in the parking lot of a Miami Subs at 2 o’clock in the morning, the radio DJ announcing it as a new song that was “probably inappropriate” to play during the day. I remember seeing Morrissey for the first time in the video for “The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get” on 120 Minutes (thus began a long and predictably tragic love affair with Morrissey and The Smiths). That teenager persists, when these songs materialize over the speaker systems in department stores or reworked as television-commercial soundtracks."

120 Minutes! Seeing Babes in Toyland, who still sort of rock my running playlist. And Liz Phair before she got crappy. And How Soon Is Now, and playing these lyrics

There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet someone who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home
And you cry
And you want to die

over and over ON A CASSETTE. And then like a hundred years later (also known as, two years ago), DS and I went to see Morrissey at The Bank of America Pavilion and he did 3 songs before cancelling the show and it sucked!

"He was surprisingly happy to see me, and after we exchanged the basics of what we were up to, he said, “Wow, man, I always thought you were so cool in high school.” I was astonished and blew past the compliment to get the hell out of there. I couldn’t imagine that anyone in my class thought of me as “cool”; at school "

This has happened to me on multiple occasions. Given how I would have/would cut a bitch to be cool, it's always a nice surprise, but also a little sad, because really, HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS? All that time wasted thinking that everyone thought I sucked. I could have maybe made more friends, been more confident, I don't know, not listen to the Cure so goddamn much.

It was an interesting trip down memory lane. I'm working on a number of different writing exercises where you have to do character studies of yourself at different ages (this lead to a panicked text to my brother asking for the name of our middle school Language Arts teacher, a woman who I could describe in great detail and who gave me an award for 'excellence' and who had a son with a motorcycle and whose name I totally forgot). You see, while I'm having no trouble describing everybody and everything else around me, I'm having a hard time locating myself in the middle of it. And if you can't write yourself, you're kind of fucked as a writer.

I don't know where I'm going with all this, but I had a kick reading Fatshionista today, sort of like the thrill of remembering high school and Sassy when I read How Sassy Changed My Life.

Coming Up

1. Books that I am reading.
2. Lost finale (otherwise known as Matthew Fox is still hot, hot, hot)
3. Recap of closet project. New pics are up.

Confessions: I May Run, But I Love My Fried Foods

There was quite a dust up in the Fatosphere this week, after Jezebel republished an essay, titled As Fat As I Wanna Be, by Tasha Fierce. The essay itself is pretty brilliant, and this is the quote that is getting reposted in a number of the usual places I frequent:

"When someone is fat shamed, the person doing the shaming often justifies it as them being concerned for the fat person's health. Of course we know that's bullshit. Fatphobia has nothing to do with health, if someone was really concerned they wouldn't harp on it to the detriment of fat people's self esteem. And a ton of fat people can attest that they eat healthily and exercise. I however, cannot. So is the health argument justified in my case? Well, no, because fat also has nothing to do with health. It's the food I eat that's the issue. It's the fact that I eat when I'm definitely not physically hungry. It's my lack of exercise."

When I read this, I got goosebumps, thinking back to my horrible run in with Evil Nutritionist in 2007. That story was the basis for my still-unpublished-but-not-for-lack-of-trying essay on breaking up with dieting.* The seriously, seriously abridged version: I finally decided to stop yo yo dieting and to see a nutritionist to essentially re-learn how to eat. Said nutritionist told me that I was very overweight** and put me on a diet, after giving me a lesson with plastic food toys on proper portion size. And we know where this goes, right? I feel like shit, try the diet, can't stick to the diet, and hate myself because I can't do anything right, and then I start binge eating again. So yeah, thank god I got your help, EVIL BITCH.

Anyway, there was the usual kerfluffle in the comments section, and Tasha Fierce wrote a second brilliant response, My Fat, Your Issues. Again, you should read the whole thing, but this is the bit that's been rattling around in my head all week:

"NOWHERE did I ask for praise, hi-fives, compliments or “you go girl” statements for eating like shit. I don’t need validation regarding what I choose to stuff in my mouth. I’m sorry if you feel like my wanton gluttony is making your fat friends look bad because they exercise and eat right and here I am, blowing it for them, being the stereotype they try so hard not to be. My point was that, again, FAT PEOPLE SHOULD NOT BE EXPECTED TO OUTLINE THE WAYS THEY’RE TRYING TO NOT BE FAT, OR THE MEASURES THEY TAKE TO COUNTER THE ILLEGITIMATE CLAIMS THAT FAT = UNHEALTHY. "

Thunk. I do this. A LOT. I'm immeasurably proud of being able to say that I am not fat. It only took about thirty years, but progress -- that's good. However, I can really bore you with the insane details of what I eat and how much I exercise and all of my food "beliefs" in the event that you felt the need to comment on my size or even look at me the wrong way. I am a good yuppie and I'll tell you all about organic produce and my love for Michael Pollan and how processed food is making us all disgusting. This should sound familiar if you've been around the blog for a while. The "look at how many ways I am trying to be healthy (i.e. not fat)" list making is so ingrained in me that I didn't even realize I was doing it so much.

And the worst part is? The worst part is that I don't really eat that great. I've always liked working out and now running is sort of religious, so I can't critique my exercise, but my food habits? They really suck. While I may BELIEVE that processed food is shit and that we should all eat less sugar and fat, I would choose fried chicken strips and a bucket of fries over anything green any day. While I may feel crappy after, there is nothing quite as tasty (to me) as a mound of pasta with sauce and a hunk of Italian bread on the side. And bacon? Everything tastes better with bacon. Things I also love include: Ring Dings, Diet Coke (oh, dear sweet lord, do I fucking love Diet Coke), potato chips, fudge, beer, white rice. Things I am not so hot about: salmon, green vegetables, tofu, sushi. To be fair, there are a ton of "healthy" things that I do like, but I can make it seem like I am eating those things all the time because my inner monologue says, "If I tell them that I had a milkshake and olive bread for dinner tonight, then they will look at me and take note of my not-so-thinness." Bullshit. Total bullshit.

We, and by we, I mean me, need to stop demonizing people because of how they treat their bodies. I don't expect smokers to list out all the vegetables they're eating and how much they exercise. Why the fatties? Because it's not about health.

Big, big sigh.


* Seriously, I think it's good. Yes, I'm probably biased. But there is worse crap out there getting published.
** Numbers at the time: 5'7" and 178 lbs. Overweight according to the BMI, but dudes, I was running like every day. Evil bitch said "not enough."

Random Things That Make Me Smile

Malt liquor makes me smile in that "like, omigod, remember all those 40s we drank in college?" way. This is awesome.

Who needs champagne when you have CHAMPALE?

I have to wonder what "makes your mouth feel like it's Saturday night" means to people who are not hookers.



Thanks to the lovely Tenille for the image.

Parenting: The Awesome and The Absurd

Awesome

I received my first purposeful, slobbery kiss from Zygote today. She was laying on the bed with YG and I, and I said, "Give mama a kiss" and she leaned her face in and put her slurpy, slobbery, germ warrior little mouth near my lips. Then she did to YG. And then she giggled like a crazy person. It was exhilirating.

Absurd

About a week into weaning, I made the first trip across the street to buy a cabbage. To put in my bra. You read that right. Google it.

Recap: Look Your Best Week

Look Your Best Week was not exactly a raging success, but it wasn't an epic fail either. It did force me to think about what I was wearing, try to put together different things, and think about WHY I wear the things that I do.

I have a tendency to "save" clothes for special occassions that may or may not happen. I'll think to myself, "oh, it's Monday. Nobody works in the office that day so I can look sloppy" or more often that I care to admit, "I'm not going anywhere so why bother." Then I wear the same jeans and t-shirts and save all the cute dresses and skirts for some other time. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the idea of wearing something special-ly lookin' to buy groceries. I have yet to step on that slippery slope toward wearing gym clothes all the time I'm not at work, but I can see how it happens.

Anyway, you should check out some of the other posts.

My favorite outfit of the week was this one. If you're following along, you can see that I have a bit of an obsession with wrap dresses (defined waist, big jugs -- what's NOT to like?) and who doesn't love leopard print?

Uncomfortable Much

There are some things that I don't like talking about and some things that you should not talk about because you are bound to piss somebody off or weird somebody out.

Church-y Things
I've mentioned before on this blog that YG and I are very involved in our church. It's a great church, and Congregational and in Cambridge so it's about as open and affirming (read: big, gay) as you can get. We stumbled across it when we both realized we wanted to go back to church, and I've been grateful ever since. We were married there, we volunteer there, and we had Zygote baptized there. It's a home of sorts.

Still, I have struggled with feeling like I gave up on the Catholic Church. Or not the church, but the "culture." It seems like it's hard to be an Italian American without being Catholic -- everything is intertwined, and many things that I consider part of my weird "heritage" are probably more church-related than ethnic (the nativity, the feasts on Christmas Eve, praying to all the saints for any number of problems, etc). Sometimes I feel like I am rejecting where I came from. Add to that the fact that most of the people in our Church share common faith backgrounds, and it's sometimes like I'm speaking another language. I had/have no idea what all the political differences between Methodists and Presbyterians and Baptists and blah, blah. I mean, for Catholics, Protestants are Protestants. Period.

But then I remember. I didn't reject anything. According to the "rules," I am going to Hell because I'm divorced. From www.religioustolerance.org (bolds are mine):

The trap that some Catholics find themselves:

Couples that obtain a civil divorce and remarry without first obtaining an annulment are denied access to the Sacraments of Penance (a.k.a. Confession) and Holy Eucharist. (Catechism 1650). They are caught between a rock and a hard place:

If they continue in the new marriage, then they cannot repent of and confess their sins through the Sacraments of Penance, and return to Communion. Meanwhile, their sins are accumulating. Because the church does not recognize their new marriage, it considers every sexual act within the marriage to be a new act of adultery -- a mortal sin. According to the church's teachings, this means that they will not attain Heaven when they die. They will end up being eternally tormented in Hell. There are only two ways of avoiding this state:

To be fortunate enough to not die suddenly (e.g. to not die instantly in a car accident or from a massive heart attack). This way, they might be able to receive the Last Anointing by which their mortal sins are forgiven. Needless to say, this is a risky route to take.

To make an "act of perfect contrition" instead of Confession. But this requires the individual to repent of what the Church considers their sins of adultery, and sincerely intend to never engage in "adultery" in the future.

If they separate from their new spouse, and live alone, and sincerely intend to remain separated unless a annulment is granted, then they can resume their access the Sacraments of Penance and Holy Eucharist. But that would require them to violate their new marriage vows, and terminate their marital relationship. This option often seems profoundly immoral to the couple, particularly if there are children involved.

But then I remember. Some of my friends and my FAMILY are not welcome to receive communion either because of who they are.

But then I remember. The sex abuse scandal. A hierarchy that didn't protect the smallest victims.

This might be the final straw for me. A Catholic school in Massachusetts withdrew the acceptance of an 8-year-old boy because his lesbian parents' relationship was "in discord" with the teachings of the church. Since the story broke, the Superintendant of the Boston Archdiocese has offered to help find a place for the kid, but too little, too late.

I guess I'm just done. I hate rabid anti-Catholic sentiments, and I like to point out all the good work that Catholic Relief Services has done around the world (Kristoff did too). But I'm tired. You can only do so much. And when the Church continues to do bigoted shit like this, you (read: I) just lose all desire to try and find the positive.

It's time to leave that behind, and accept that I am part of a new church* where I just fit better.

* And now I can spend the time that I used defending Catholicism to explain the differences between my church and the crazy, nutso Evangelicals.

Jugs, Or More Specifically, Mine

I could spend all day talking about boobs and bra sizing and hooters, as long as they don't belong to me. I've been reluctant to talk about nursing the Zygote because people have very specific ideas about what is and isn't appropriate with regards to breastfeeding. If I talk to one group, I am an evil harpy because I have been giving my kid a bottle of formula every day since she was 6 weeks old and I introduced her to bottles at 2 weeks. If I talk to another group, I am some crazy earth momma hippie that wears hemp clothing and is really into composting because 11 months in, I am still nursing.

Or was. A few days ago, Zygote just decided she didn't want to nurse anymore. She's never gone on a nursing strike before, and we've kept the same schedule (nursing in the morning and night, and on weekends/bottles during the day) since I went back to work 7 months ago. I had been doing a lot of research about weaning, so in some sense, I was prepared for this. And I know it might also be a phase -- kids her age rarely self-wean this early.

I never expected that I would be doing this this long, and I never thought I would get so emotionally attached to it. I heard that the depression following weaning could sometimes be as bad as postpartum depression, and considering I spent the first month after Zygote was born wishing I would get hit by a car so that someone more competent could take of her -- this freaks my shit all out.

I've been following her lead, giving her the bottle, but following the rest of our routine: reading her a story, rocking her, letting her play with my hair. She's fine. And I know I'll be fine, phase or not, but it's very bittersweet. I feel grateful to have part of my life back, but I also can't believe my little baby is growing up.

How's that for barfy? And if I really wanted to be gross, I would now post a cute picture of my kid.



Oh, look. I just did.

What? I Can't Hear You

It's been a year since YG lost his hearing. He participated in a study last summer, but his hearing never returned. With physical therapy, his balance did return and he's able to ride his bike again. I don't talk about this much because it really isn't my story to tell, and you deal with the hand you've been given and handle the situation in front of you. YG and I are not the type of people who let themselves break down. Or grieve. Or be off our game. Or take break. But that's a whole other blog. And we never really had time to think about what happened -- Zygote was born a few weeks later, the MG got sick, his career took off, I went back to work, etc. etc.. I am profoundly grateful that YG didn't suffer a more serious disease, but that doesn't mean I still don't feel a sense of loss, and the usual "the world is so unfair" crap. YG has dealt with some major shit in the course of his young life (yes, YG, you read that right -- young), and I hate that he ended up with another turd in the shit sandwich. He's dealt with it with grace and calm, as is his way, and I'm just thinking about it on this unfortunate anniversary of sorts.

Look Your Best Week

The ladies over at Academic Chic are doing this again this year, and I think it's awesome. It plays nicely into my whole 'shop from the closet' experiment.

Speaking of which, I found this blog entry describing why and how people tune into outfit posts. I admit that I am a bit obsessed with them, and I love how people present them. Photography draws my eye a lot, and I feel slight mortification that my photos are all taken with our old digital camera in our very crappy bathroom. But I am not a fashion blogger, so cut me some slack.

While reading through all of these blogs this morning (okay, well, reading the links from Already Pretty), I came across this awesome Margaret Cho quote:

"And I have a lot of self-esteem, which is amazing, because I’m probably somebody who wouldn’t necessarily have a lot of self esteem, as I am considered a minority. And if you are a woman; if you are a person of color; if you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender; if you are a person of size; if you are person of intelligence; if you are a person of integrity, then YOU are considered a minority in this world. And it’s going to be really hard to find messages of self-love and support anywhere, especially women’s and gay men’s culture. It’s all about how you have to look a certain way, or else you’re worthless. You know, when you look in the mirror and think, “Ugh, I’m so ugly, I’m so fat, I’m so old.” Don’t you know that’s not your authentic self? That is billions upon billions of dollars of advertising: magazines, movies, billboards, all geared to make you feel shitty about yourself, so that you will take your hard-earned money, and spend it at the mall on some turn-around creme that doesn’t turn around shit. If you don’t have self-esteem, you will hesitate before you do anything in your life. You will hesitate to go for the job you want to go for. You will hesitate to ask for a raise. You will hesitate to call yourself an American. You will hesitate to report a rape. You will hesitate to defend yourself when you are discriminated against because of your race, your sexuality, your size, your gender. You will hesitate to vote. You will hesitate to dream. For us to have self-esteem is truly an act of revolution, and our revolution is long overdue. I urge you all today, especially today in these times of terrorism and chaos, to love yourselves without reservation and to love each other without restraint. Unless you’re into leather, then by all means, use restraints. Thank you."

That was sourced back to this blog that I immediately added to my favorites.

Her stated mission:

"Size 14+ women are desexualized, infantilized & prematurely aged by commercial apparel designers, given insanely few choices for covering their bodies, and made to pay double for half the quality.
Egregious sequins, boatnecks, 3/4 length sleeves, bad graphics, thin polyester:
I, for one, am outraged.And you are too.NonPlus looks into the toxic world of “Plus-Sized Fashion” and teases out the interesting & incredible from the insulting."

AND, she's local. Cool.

What JM Talks About When She Talks About Running

I finally finished reading Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. I've been meaning to write about what I thought about the book, along with other thoughts on running/writing and a confluence of events, including some really good weeks at work.

The book is classified as a memoir, but it is equal parts training log, travelogue and writers' manual. Or could be classified under the broad category of Books I Read At Exactly The Right Time. I picked this up a few years back at City Lights in San Francisco, when I first picked up running. I really don't know what my impetus was to start running at that particular time. It seems like a fairly dumb sport to pick up in your 30s when you're overweight and not particularly fast. But for as long as I could remember, I had "run a marathon" on my list of New Year's Resolutions, even though I never actually, you know, RAN. Pipe dreams. I had tried biking because YG was into it, but I'm too competitive and it bothered me to know that I would never be as good at biking as he was/is. I guess I needed something for myself, and I had a few friends that had success with Couch to 5K, so there you go. As with most things in my life, I kind of fell into it.

And now a few years later, I feel pretty confident about my half marathon training and eventual marathon dreams. So off the bookshelf, Murakami's book came. I had no idea he ran the same routes I do. Right out of the gate, I was hooked:

"It doesn't matter what field you're talking about -- beating somebody else just doesn't do it for me. I'm much more interested in whether I reach the goals that I set for myself, so in this sense long-distance running is the perfect fit for a mindset like mine. ...In long-distance running the only opponenet you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be."

As I've mentioned before, I'm slow. Really slow. On a good day, I can run between a 10:30 and 11 minute mile. On a regular day, that's more like 11:30/12 minutes. I'm not going to win any races, and most of the time, I'm near the back of the pack. I've had to deal with snide remarks by "real" runners who think that us slowpokes should stay out of the way, but it doesn't matter. I have my own goals, and most of the time, I am able to meet them. I follow my training plans and I feel good. I KNOW that I will finish this half marathon, and I know that I will run a marathon someday.

I was out running on Friday and I wiped out good. I felt my sneaker hit the lip of the sidewalk, and I knew I was going to tumble. In slow motion, I saw this sweaty Gatorade bottle I was holding go hurtling in the air, and I heard myself yell before I hit the ground. My initial reaction was fear that I had broken something, only fueled by a bunch of people who got out of their cars and came over to make sure that I was okay. I rolled over and checked my knees and palms (both bleeding) and let out this stream of "motherfuckerjesusgoddamitshitfucker." Next reaction was pure RAGE. Falling was NOT in my plan, and I knew it was going to screw with my time. I killed the last mile, but was still irritated. And three days later, am still sore AND irritated.

Murakami relates this to writing this way:

"In the novelist's profession, as far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as winning or losing. . . . What's crucial is whether your writing attains the standards you've set for yourself. Failure to reach that bar is not something you can easily explain away. When it comes to other people, you can always come up with a reasonable explanation, but you can't fool yourself."

Ouch. So here's where it gets difficult. I'm not sure I've set any standards for myself. I said that I was going to be a writer when I was 10, and that's the only thing I really ever wanted/want to be. But I'm not even sure what that means anymore. Because that was my only goal, I never really developed any other career plans and just fell into what I'm doing. It's okay, but I always feel like I am displaced and the only reason I do well is because I'm competitive, not because I really want to excel.

I have to figure out what success writing is going to mean for me. I don't think I'm going to be "discovered." 1. Because that rarely happens. And 2. Because one would need to be writing fairly regularly or writing SOMETHING for that something to be discovered. When I'm not taking classes, my writing is very disjointed and without purpose. I would present this entry as Exhibit A. I have the time to write now on Fridays and just like I came up with a training plan for the half and future marathons, there needs to be some sort of defined goal for me to work toward. My writing teachers have all said I should pursue this, and even the random creativity workshop that I took at work ended with an awkward heart-to-heart with the hippie teachers who also noted that I "have something and should pursue it." Not about you, about me, blah blah blah.

"If you're going to while away the years, it's far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that's the essence of running, and a metaphor for life -- and for me, for writing as well."

Amen? Let's see where I can take this.

I like running because all I need to do is concentrate on running. Nothing else. One foot in front of the other. I had described that feeling to a friend from church and described myself as being in love with the blankness of my mind while running. I thought I had come up with a particularly brilliant observation, a way to get away from my near-constant inner monlogue, but Murakami uses the adjective "blank" throughout his book. I guess everyone feels this way. I listen to music most of the time, but I don't really hear it. I just concentrate on moving, and (most of the time), not falling.

"Maybe it's some pointless act...but at least the effort you put into it remains. Whether it's good for anything or not, cool or totally uncool, in the final analysis what's most important is what you can't see but can feel in your heart. To be able to grasp something of value, something you have to perform seemingly ineffecient acts. But activities that appear fruitless don't necessarily end up so."

I guess we'll see.

No Repeats

Week two.

This Week in Running -- Photo Edition

Injury at Mile 11



First 5K of the Season -- Mom's Run

Start



34:35 Finish -- Not terrible considering I was still recovering from the 12 mile two days earlier and have a gross, bruised knee.

Jugs

Another untapped market opportunity.

Why Designers Refuse To Make Bigger Bras.

But how much of a "risk" is it to make and advertise a product you know many women are clamoring for, unless you know your company is only capable of making cheap, flimsy bras that would never support larger breasts? Is designing a bra that can do some heavy lifting really so complex that it's more profitable to add a bow and some lace to last season's 34Bs and shun millions of potential customers?

Note to designers: If you build it, I will come.

Internets Crush

I put this up on Facebook too because it's totally awesome and I hope it gets a lot of link love.

You Can't Bully Me Out of My Skinny Jeans.

LOVE.

It amazes me that there is a group on Facebook dedicated to being dick faces, but then again, there was that "No Chubbies" guy in Denver a while back too. So really, I should never be amazed by just how dickish people can be.

The word of the day is, apparently, dick.

Hastily Written Late Night Reasons to Love Cambridge

1. We were spared during the Aquapocalypse.

2. Beautiful weather runs along the Charles. I've logged twenty miles since Friday. I am that awesome.

3. The Paper Raincoat at Club Passim.

Clothes Horse

My first batch of outfits is up. I am slightly weirded out, yet fascinated, by the number of views on the pictures. Are people really that interested in clothes? Or is it a fetish/stalker thing? People find this blog by googling "swinging testicles" so I should not be surprised by anything on the Internets.

In other clothes news, I like this blog. I read a lot of fashion blogs, but given my day job, it's not like I can really wear a lot of the super stylin' hip stuff people are blogging about. Never mind that I'm neither stylin' nor hip. The stuff at Corporette combines cool clothes with things you can wear to a white dude office.

They Said It Better and More Lists of Shit I Am Doing

1. The Fairy Tale of Weight Loss -- I read these ladies' blogs. Very cool.

2. Are you listening to my friend Amy's podcast? You should be.

3. I took this workshop today. You know me. You know how I react to mandatory fun at work. I was approaching this and the upside down 'A' with the same enthusiasm as I might approach dental work or a trip to the ob/gyn. As usual, I am a dick. It was great and I did more writing exercises today at work than I have on my last two months of "writing" Fridays.

4. I am going to the Simmons Women's Leadership Conference tomorrow. I am not going to harass Tina Brown.

5. Immigration is a feminist issue. Much better articulated than my 'Fuck you, Arizona' sentiments.

6. Cape Wind Pros and Cons. The cons seem very much of the 'not in my backyard' variety. Very 'we, the rich white liberals of New England very much support green energy as long as you put the turbines someplace else, preferably where poor people live, because they don't have sailing or views of the ocean or anything visually pleasing like that.'

7. Big tits are inappropriate for television, but only if they are on fat chicks. There was a big brouhaha over the censoring of Lane Bryant's lingerie ads. Check it out yourself. Any difference between this and a Victoria's Secret ad? I don't get it. The model's reported measurements are 36-34-47 and a US Size 12. This is around my size, so I for one, am thrilled to see real jugs on a regular-sized person in an underwear ad that doesn't feature granny panties and lots of beige. BEWARE THE JUGS.



8. My brother likes today, Poem in Your Pocket Day. I pick
the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls by E.E. Cummings for my adopted town. Also, I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone. Because a little Rilke never hurt anyone.

Anniversary #2

April 26, 2008



April 2009



April 2010



Good run, so far.

Reading, Watching, Other Stuff

1. Waiter Rant -- I didn't really read this one. I listened to it in the car, and it lent itself well to that medium, meaning I probably would have been bored if I read the actual book. It starts off slow, but got better, and for a brief moment in time made me appreciate my boring office job. Sometimes I experience weird nostalgia for the crappy jobs I had in high school and college, because, hey, at least you could punch out at the end of the day. But then I remember the bag full of dicks you end up sucking in food service and get over it. I'm curious about this dude's blog now, as usual, about two years after it was cool to care.

2. No One Belongs Here More Than You: Stories by Miranda July -- I confess to wanting to read this book because of its shiny yellow cover. And I liked the weirdness that was Me and You and Everyone We Know. This was on the clearance rack at Borders so I picked it up to have something to read in the Pumping Room, other than Parents magazine from 3 years ago. Verdict is still out. It was fascinating, and I had some definite favorites, but I guess my sieve-like brain craves more linear stories right now. I'd like to have a drink or play Jenga with Miranda July. She's a fucked up little oddball.

3. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism -- Because we needed another reason to hate rich, whitey businessmen. It took me two months to read this, and I feel like I missed some of the stats because it was just so dense. The main premise is that politicians use the shock of natural and other disasters to push through unpopular economic policies while the general population is disoriented and reeling from the disaster's impact. It takes on post-Katrina New Orleans, post-911 USA, the collapse of the Soviet Union, among others, and talks about Milton Friedman's legacy of shit. You also get a whole host of new reasons to hate Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld, if you needed that. What I liked is that Naomi Klein is a journalist, so this reads like a *really long* magazine article without the usual boring economic jargon. What I didn't like is that it's very biased, and I think there are probably examples of leftists participating in the same sort of shenanigans.

4. Away From Her -- I actually haven't finished watching this yet, because it's sort of hard to psyche yourself up for an Alzheimer's flick. Sort of like saying, "Hey guys, let's have a party -- I've got Schindler's List and Hotel Rwanda. Woot!" I've been watching it in dribs and drabs, and it's beautiful and honest and depressing as hell. And much realer than that shit in The Notebook. Sarah Polley of Go (one of my favorites) and The Sweet Hereafter (another not-for-a-party movie) and a bunch of other great movies directed it. My grandmother had Alzheimer's disease. It was horrible to watch, and the scenes in the nursing home (especially one where the character, Grant, says that his wife would never wear a sweater that "tacky") just chilled me. Brilliant acting, but don't watch it alone.

5. Party Down -- For when I'm not watching tearjerkers. I just discovered this, and my first thought was, "It's Louie! I wanna dip my balls in it."* And Stifler's Mom. And Karen. And that lady from Glee and all the other movies I like and that really bad commercial for frozen dinners with Julia Louis Dreyfus. Pretty hilarious shit. And again, semi grateful for my office job.

* For shits and giggles, you should Google "Dip my balls in it." People are fucked up.

6. I only have a few weeks left of training for the half. I'm sore, but starting to imagine actually finishing. YG has been telling me to think about what I want to do after, so I signed up for this to keep things moving. 7.5 miles seem really NICE right now.

7. Lost: The Final Season -- I think I am too dumb for this show. They kill me. Every week I think I am going to learn something new, but end up drooling in confusion. Then I read Diva for explanations. Only slightly related: Matthew Fox and his new haircut should call me sometime.

8. New project -- I saw a link to this project, A Compendium of Dresses, on Already Pretty, and spent a not-insignificant portion of this weekend drooling over this girl's fabulous dresses. I'm also in the middle of my annual closet swap/cleaning/whatever and am excited to wear some of my older clothes. I didn't get to wear dresses last summer because of the post-baby weight and nursing, so it's almost like having a new wardrobe. Of way too much stuff. In the spirit of keeping myself busy and not spending money on clothes that I don't need, I am bringing back Outfits I Have Enjoyed.* Thirty one days in May, and hopefully thirty one outfits I have enjoyed.

* In looking back at those photos, I probably should change the tense to "had." Wow, I was off on some of those.

Brief Hiatus

Our nanny is away on a two-week vacation. That is the kind of phrase that strikes fear deep, deep, deep in my soul. My work is a mess, our house is a disaster, and I am vaguely aware of this person called my husband. Lots of blogs in the head, but not on the screen. Stay tuned.

Things I Like: The Situation Meets Mr. Hottie Met

David Wright and Mike, "The Situation." This kind of makes me want to go out and get a Vitamin Water. I believe my favorite comment on Youtube was, "the only thing he's fist pumping this year is your mom."

Ah, baseball season is back again!

Poem for a Rainy Monday

Dogfish by Mary Oliver.

Dogfish
Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.
If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.
And you know
what a smile means,
don't you?
*
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
*
It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.
*
Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?
Slowly
*
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
*
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story - - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
*
And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.
*
And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,
they can do it.

The Good Die Young

There are so many things that suck about getting divorced that it's hard to start a post with "One of the worst things about getting divorced is..." Still, some things qualify as really bad. Like when you like your ex's friends or family, and you suddenly don't see or talk to them anymore. It's not like you stop caring about them. You do, but you can't just call somebody up and be all, "hey, remember when we used to be related? Fun!"

My former brother-in-law died yesterday after a long battle with cancer. He was 50 years old and leaves behind a wife and two young children, along with his mother and three siblings, including my ex-husband. I am finding it hard to put into words how sad this makes me feel.

I hadn't spoken to him in about four years, around the time that my marriage was disintegrating. I met F and his wife when I was 23 and they were in their late thirties. At the time, I thought I was so old and mature. Now I realize that I didn't know jack shit, but the family was never condescending and they welcomed me and hung around with my just-graduated-from-college friends and invited me to lots of things at their house. It was my first foray into the world of the suburban family with kids (other than my family of origin) and good practice -- I had fun helping with puppet and magic shows for the kids, hanging out in the backyard barbequing and playing volleyball. F was pretty hilarious and had a wicked sense of humor, and he and my ex played off each other really well. His whole family adored him -- sometimes jealous, sometimes irritated, but they knew he was a good guy. Even though things eventually went to hell, I give F and his wife lots of props for at least trying to understand, or at least ask me questions about how bad things were for me back then. There is a lot more I can say about him, but I know that this information is semi-public and it's not my story to tell -- it just seems unfair to lose someone who battled through so much shit and so many other terrible things throughout the course of his life.

I was there when their father died. I was there when F had a relapse of cancer. I was there when F and his wife adopted their second child. I think the last time I saw him was at his daughter's Communion. I'm not there now, nor would it be appropriate for me to be. But I am thinking of the family and those kids and just wishing, vibing, whatever, HOPING that they have the strength to make it through this.

Because You Care What I Think About Healthcare

So the bill is signed, and Armageddon has not yet arrived. I straddle two very, very different worlds in that I have worked for big, white corporations for over a decade now with lots of big-business types, but I live in The People's Republic of Cambridge and seem to be the centrist one among my hippie, trippy, lefty pinko friends. When that gavel hit, Facebook exploded and depending on what friend was posting, I could assume that either Fidel Castro was going to become the next President or all the world's ills would soon be solved by the new Virgin Mother, Nancy Pelosi.

So I give my friend, Steve, credit for posting the following:

"Raise your hand if you fully understand the supposedly "historic" health care bill and the ramifications it's going to have on our country. Putting Facebook, Twitter, New York Times, Wall Street Journal editorial/opinion pieces aside--and even your own political opinions/agendas--do you truly understand? If I only had a dollar for everyone who could explain the overhaul in 100 words or less."

The posts that followed were actually civil, and wide-ranging. Imagine that. I checked out the various "What Healthcare Reform Means For You" graphics on the New York Times and Washington Post, but I suspect that my feelings about this bill being passed would not be that different even if those graphics told me, "hey, take a good look, whitey, you're going to have to pay a shit ton more taxes now."

Do I want to pay more taxes? No. Do I believe in big government? No. Am I happy about all the back-door deals and strong arming that went on to pass this? No. Do I think that the bill is seriously flawed? Yes.

Still, I am extremely happy that it passed. To me, this is a moral issue more than anything else. How can the richest country in the world justify not taking care of its sick? How can we seriously believe that if you lose your job and get sick that you somehow deserve to bankrupt yourself and your family to get better? It doesn't jive with all those American values that we think are cheesy when used in statements about VALUES but secretly believe strongly in. It doesn't work. You take care of the sick. That's...just what you do. Right?

I could make more arguments about how we'll save money in the long run (preventative care, blah blah), but I really don't give a shit about those arguments. You take care of sick people because it's the right thing to do. It's not socialism.

The church I go to had a lot of good stuff to say about healthcare, and through them I found Faithful Reform. I really liked what their vision statement (bolds are mine). The language is a bit 'o divine merciful blessings on this beautiful godly day' for my tastes, but the message resonated strongly.

Vision ~ Inclusive: Health care is a shared responsibility that is grounded in our common humanity. In the bonds of our human family, we are created to be equal. We are guided by a divine will to treat each person with dignity and to live together as an inclusive community. Affirming our commitment to the common good, we acknowledge our enduring responsibility to care for one another. As we recognize that society is whole only when we care for the most vulnerable among us, we are led to discern the human right to health care and wholeness. Therefore, we are called to act with compassion by sharing our abundant health care resources with everyone.

Vision ~ Affordable: Health care must contribute to the common good by being affordable for individuals, families and society as a whole. We believe that in the sacred act of creation we are endowed with the talents, wisdom and abundant resources necessary to meet the needs of one another, including the health care needs of all. Therefore, in our calling to be faithful stewards, we understand our responsibility to use our health care resources effectively, to administer them efficiently, and to distribute them with equity.

Vision ~ Accessible: All persons should have access to health services that provide necessary care and contribute to wellness. We believe humanity is sacred and that all persons should benefit from those actions which contribute to our health and wholeness. Therefore, we are called to act with justice and love, to ensure that all of us have access to the health care we need in order to live out the fullness of our potential both as individuals and as contributing members of our society. We must work together to identify and overcome all barriers to and disparities in such care.

Vision ~ Accountable: Our health care system must be accountable, offering a quality, equitable and sustainable means of keeping us healthy as individuals and as a community. We believe that as spiritual and sacred vessels, we are responsible for the care of our bodies to the best of our ability and for the care of one another regardless of individual circumstances. Therefore, individuals, families, governments, businesses, and the faith community are called to work in partnership for a system that ensures fully-informed, timely, quality and safe care that treats body, mind and spirit.

I can't raise my hand and say that I know what the bill means for me, but I can say that I'm happy about it, and that whatever price I have to pay, I do think it's worth it.

Thanks Steve for the topic! :-)

I Need A Motherfucking Project

Because otherwise, I am not going to write. Seriously, this is just not going to happen for me if I don't have a deadline, so comments/suggestions/etc are welcome. I did great in writing class because there was a due date, and I do well if I commit to these "one entry a day, week, whatever" things. On my own, though? Not so much. My brain is just one long run on sentence.

What have I been up to?

* First there was the lead up to San Francisco. Long work hours, work drama, wanting to spend any minute left with Zygote and YG.

* And then there was San Francisco. I practically had a stroke leading up to this trip. I couldn't imagine being away from Zygote that long, and I was panicking about her starving to death and/or loathing me when I got back. Or worse, forgetting me. I also over-planned a bit, trying to imagine what it was going to be like dealing with the TSA and a cooler full of breastmilk.

As usual, my imagination was far, far worse than reality. It was fine. The TSA gave me no problems at all. The pumping sucked, but I expected that, and I can now cross "pump at 35,000 feet" off my life's to-do list. Sadly, I will probably never be a member of the mile-high club, but pumping? Aw, yeah. Rock!

I suffered from WILD mood swings the entire time I was gone. I could go from "woo hoo, I can do whatever I want. Let's go get fucked up!" to "I am going to steal your baby and suckle it" in a matter of seconds. And then I got a sinus infection and spent a day in bed. And then some bitch told me that I didn't know how to do my job, and I actually called YG and cried and said "I want to come home" like a kid calling his mom from summer camp. And then one of my work BFFs got some shit news. And then I ate nothing but cookies and bacon and alcohol for four days. And then I got ripped a new asshole by someone super senior. And....EXHAUSTING.

And, oh yeah, and then I took a red eye home, managed to get a cab from the only white, English-speaking cabbie around who also happened to be a talker and Glen Beck hater and 'the world is ending' kind of dude, and at 7:30 a.m. , opened the door to my wide-awake baby, overtired husband, and my parents, sleeping on an air mattress in the living room of our very-small apartment.

* For the past few weeks, I have just been digging out, and getting into near fist fights at Shaws. I'm still training for that half marathon, and the runs are getting longer and more intense, and the rest of my time is spent with Zygote.

So, yeah, I need a motherfucking project.

Happy Birthday, YG!

Happy birthday to the bestest of the best people I have ever known.
San Fran is not quite the same without you.

Animal Planet

This Is What A Relationship Looks Like: Black Ops Edition

Sometimes you end up having conversations about things you really never imagined you would have conversations about. Like, you know, what you would name your own butthole.

To set some context, I bought YG the first two seasons of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia for Valentine's Day. We were discussing our favorite episodes, and I mentioned that my all time favorite episode is the one where Dee wants to have a Sex&The City girls night out, and they are all drinking cosmos and Artemis shouts out, "I have a bleached asshole!" Hilarity ensues.

Multiple tangents later, we get to this conversation:

Me: Ha, ha, ha. "I have a bleached asshole!"

YG: Your asshole is named Blanche.
Me: Blanche, the bleached asshole.
[editorial note: I still do not quite get the whole bleached asshole thing. If you don't either, I suggest you resist the urge to
Google Image Search]

Me: What should we call your asshole?

(YG ponders)

YG: Black Ops.

Me: Black Ops?

YG: Yeah, Black Ops. Beyond top secret military missions.

Me: Ok.

YG: In the defense budget, there's a whole line item for Black Ops, but nobody really knows what it is.

Me: Okay, so your asshole is Black Ops.

YG: Get it? Double entendre.

Me: Yeah, got it.

YG: You are not sufficiently laughing.

Me: Funny.

YG: Black Ops IS funny.

Me: I GET YOUR DOUBLE ENTENDRE.

YG: But you are not laughing hard enough.

YG: I turn a deaf ear to you now. Literally.

Me: Now THAT's funny.

The Universe Conspires

Against my blogging. I had this wonderful post in my head last night about how things have been going pretty good here for a while, or not going well, but I am pretty mellow, thus the appearance of things going well. And then Zygote woke me up at 5 this morning, and it was snowing and cold and this fucking conference and business travel and school vacation blows when you're working and blah, blah, blah. Woe is me.

So no long post on how mellow and Simply Abundant I am. Just more lists:

Recently read: Everything Is Illuminated -- Again, about five years after everyone else did, but lovely and heartbreaking and funny.

Reading: Confessions of an Economic Hit Man by John Perkins -- Fast, interesting read. At some points not believable, and at others, grotesquely so. Also, horray, I am not in the most soul sucking profession. It could be worse.

Listening: The Away We Go soundtrack -- I liked the movie. I really like the soundtrack. Such a good hipster. Plus, now I can stop saying that I discovered Alexi Murdoch from a Zach Braff movie.

Watching: LOST. I'm not salivating with excitement, but I do end most episodes thinking 'what the fuck just happened?' and that is why I love me some LOST. Diva recaps so that I don't have to.

Watching: Big Love. Mormons are fucked up, yo. I loved the gay Albee story line, and feminist Margene. Could do without the campaign.

Watched: Julie and Julia. I was meh about the book, but it was the first thing I read post-Zygote, so I found it entertaining. Meryl Streep was fabulous, but I could have done without so much of Julie's twentysomething angst. Even more irritating is the fact that my mother saw this movie, loved it, and told me that the Julie character reminded her SO MUCH of me. Please refute. Thank you.

Enjoying: The Best Life Ever. Have I linked to these folks before? I found them through some link love, and have read them weekly ever since. They make me happy when I am feeling grumptastic like the morning I described above. And then manage to write about being happy in a way that is not all barfy, simple abundance style.

Upcoming: San Francisco. Five nights away from Zygote. I can count on my hands the number of times I have not put her to bed since she's been born. I anticipate this being tough. I also anticipate finding my strength in good food and mixed drinks (aw yeah, pump and dump).

Little Artiste