I have not been doing much writing lately, or blogging, even though one of my resolutions was to try and post at least twice a week. However, I have been on a tear with books, reading pretty much anything I can get my hands on. A few recent pics:
1. Freedom -- Jonathan Franzen: Blah, blah, blah, the writer of our times, book of the century, blah, blah. All that aside, I did like this book. Or not like it. I find that Franzen creates incredibly unlikable characters that I want to know more about, and I can't put his books down. But I find it hard to believe that this is the best writing out there right now. I don't think it's bad; I don't think it's not brilliant -- it just doesn't compare to my other "great books."
2. Wishin' and Hopin': A Christmas Story -- Wally Lamb: A cute, easy read for the holidays. Probably more enjoyable if you are Catholic and/or Italian.
3. Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide -- Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn: I saw WuDunn speak at the Simmons Leadership Conference last year, and immediately bought the book and had her sign it. I was so inspired that it sat on my shelf for seven months. Eye roll, please. I would characterize this read as "important." It made me want to do something, help people, and the advice was extremely practical, not one of these patronizing "well, we should dismantle our entire economic system and have everyone join the Peace Corps" tomes. Because both the authors are journalists as well, it's very easy to digest. READ THIS BOOK.
4. Because I Said So: 33 Mothers Write About Children, Sex, Men, Aging, Faith, Race, and Themselves -- Kate Moses and Camille Peri: This anthology was pulled together by the women who wrote for Salon's 'Mothers Who Think' column. Some of the essays were slightly boring, but all tackled bigger issues than the 'sleep training is hard' and 'i used to be someone important and now all I do is change diapers' standard mommy stories.
5. Charmed Thirds -- Megan McCafferty: The third installment of the Jessica Darling novels, covering her college years. I read this in a day. I love Jessica Darling. I love Megan McCafferty. We need to be bestest friends forever.
I just started The Help in an attempt to read a book that people are talking about when they are actually talking about it. And what are YOU reading?
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Holidays: The New Media Way
My dad has read Night Before Christmas to me every year* on Christmas Eve since I was born. This was my first Christmas Eve outside of the Whip, so we did it via Skype.
And proving how social media savvy we are, I didn't even take this picture. My brother took it. But he didn't send it to me. Too old school. I took it from his blog.
Yes, roll those eyes.
More holiday pics here, and an update soon.
* We didn't do it in 2002 because my grandfather died early Christmas morning that year, so my dad gets a pass as Christmas was sucking for numerous reasons beyond no Night Before Christmas.
And proving how social media savvy we are, I didn't even take this picture. My brother took it. But he didn't send it to me. Too old school. I took it from his blog.
Yes, roll those eyes.
More holiday pics here, and an update soon.
* We didn't do it in 2002 because my grandfather died early Christmas morning that year, so my dad gets a pass as Christmas was sucking for numerous reasons beyond no Night Before Christmas.
Friday, December 17, 2010
This Is What a Relationship Looks Like:Guest Edition
Courtesy of my friend, BB, who passed this along to me yesterday detailing a scene from her marriage.
P: give me bread. now. do it.
B: no
P: i bought that bread so you shouldn't actually be eating any of it.
B:
p: well fine, then you can eat the cheese but no bread.
(5 min later, as he goes upstairs):
P: don't eat any bread
B: how do you know i didn't put this bread up my butt?
p: how do you know i didn't rub my nuts all over the bread?
/end.
I like that we are not only in our undying love for butt jokes.
P: give me bread. now. do it.
B: no
P: i bought that bread so you shouldn't actually be eating any of it.
B:
p: well fine, then you can eat the cheese but no bread.
(5 min later, as he goes upstairs):
P: don't eat any bread
B: how do you know i didn't put this bread up my butt?
p: how do you know i didn't rub my nuts all over the bread?
/end.
I like that we are not only in our undying love for butt jokes.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Speak To Me About Networking
Do you do it? How do you do it? Has it paid off? I am shy and curmudgeonly, but I desperately, and I mean desperately, need to be doing something new. That means putting myself out there, and um, I do not want to be out there.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
This Is What A Relationship Looks Like: Did I Really Write Nice Things About You Just Yesterday Edition
YG: Where have you been hiding?
JM: I was in the kitchen, on the computer. Facebook.
YG: Did you make me anything?
JM: Like what?
YG: Tea? Hot chocolate?
JM: You want me to make you something?
YG: It would nice if you made me something once in a while. I make you tea or cocoa every night.
JM: I made you that thing. Sometimes. That time.
YG: What things?
JM: I make you money.
YG: You don't make ME money.
JM: I totally make money.
YG: You're not out there hustlin' in the streets to bring ME back some cash.
JM: I pay the rent. And I made you coffee like TWICE this year. And I cleaned ALL THE THINGS that time.
YG: *smirk, smirk, smirk*
I made the tea. Check that box, bitches.
JM: I was in the kitchen, on the computer. Facebook.
YG: Did you make me anything?
JM: Like what?
YG: Tea? Hot chocolate?
JM: You want me to make you something?
YG: It would nice if you made me something once in a while. I make you tea or cocoa every night.
JM: I made you that thing. Sometimes. That time.
YG: What things?
JM: I make you money.
YG: You don't make ME money.
JM: I totally make money.
YG: You're not out there hustlin' in the streets to bring ME back some cash.
JM: I pay the rent. And I made you coffee like TWICE this year. And I cleaned ALL THE THINGS that time.
YG: *smirk, smirk, smirk*
I made the tea. Check that box, bitches.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Committed, Marriage, Etc
I just finished reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace With Marriage. Yes, she is that Eat, Pray, Love lady. Yes, fine, judge me, because I liked the book. Part-memoir, part travelogue, part marriage history, it basically tells the story of how she, a divorced feminist, makes peace with deciding to get married again.
There weren't a lot of stories in there that I hadn't heard before, but I obviously loved the memoir parts because I almost always love memoir, and I liked the legal parallels she drew between interracial and gay marriage. She discusses the Lovings, and how at the time the Supreme Court ruled that race-based legal restrictions on marriage were unconstitutional in 1967, "70 percent of Americans vehemently opposed this ruling. Let me repeat that: In recent American history, seven out of ten Americans still believed that it should be a criminal offense for people of different races to marry each other." The mind boggles. I think of how many interracial couples I know now, and I cannot imagine this. This gives me hope for the future of gay marriage and the tide of public opinion.
Perhaps the best part of the book, though, was all the discussion it prompted between YG and I about how we see our own marriage and where we want to go. We are thick in the middle of the child years right now, and sometimes its a struggle just getting through day and all the chores and all the SHIT -- never mind being the kind of person that anyone else would want to be around. But here's the thing: I like YG. A lot. Yes, of course, I lurve him and all that -- husband, father of my child, all around nice guy, blah blah. But I LIKE him. I like being around him and talking with him and scheming with him. He's usually my favorite person in the room (expression courtesy of a friend who said this exact phrase about her husband, and I fell in love with it).
Really, if I could sum up in one sentence what I want out of this marriage, it is that I hope we always like each other.
So read the book. Or not.
There weren't a lot of stories in there that I hadn't heard before, but I obviously loved the memoir parts because I almost always love memoir, and I liked the legal parallels she drew between interracial and gay marriage. She discusses the Lovings, and how at the time the Supreme Court ruled that race-based legal restrictions on marriage were unconstitutional in 1967, "70 percent of Americans vehemently opposed this ruling. Let me repeat that: In recent American history, seven out of ten Americans still believed that it should be a criminal offense for people of different races to marry each other." The mind boggles. I think of how many interracial couples I know now, and I cannot imagine this. This gives me hope for the future of gay marriage and the tide of public opinion.
Perhaps the best part of the book, though, was all the discussion it prompted between YG and I about how we see our own marriage and where we want to go. We are thick in the middle of the child years right now, and sometimes its a struggle just getting through day and all the chores and all the SHIT -- never mind being the kind of person that anyone else would want to be around. But here's the thing: I like YG. A lot. Yes, of course, I lurve him and all that -- husband, father of my child, all around nice guy, blah blah. But I LIKE him. I like being around him and talking with him and scheming with him. He's usually my favorite person in the room (expression courtesy of a friend who said this exact phrase about her husband, and I fell in love with it).
Really, if I could sum up in one sentence what I want out of this marriage, it is that I hope we always like each other.
"It's been famously said that second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience, but I'm not entirely sure that's true. It seems to me that first marriages are the more hope-drenched affairs, awash in vast expectations and easy optimism. Second marriages are cloaked, I think, in something else: a respect for forces that are bigger than us, maybe. . . . Maybe the only difference between first marriage and second marriage is that the second time at least you know you are gambling."
So read the book. Or not.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Testimony Testimony
I am deep in the plumbing of feeling sorry for myself right now because my work/life balance seems to be a lot more about work than life right now. Hence, no updating. But then I remembered the high of my last class and getting congratulated on a fabulous essay, and the high of my weird, strange testimony at church. I was surprised that they asked me to participate because I'm not exactly "church-y," but the positive feedback about being honest and having said what other people were thinking but couldn't say was overwhelming. And just...NICE. I figured I'd post it here.
After being approached to give my testimony, my initial thought, or the one AFTER revivals and speaking in tongues and fire and brimstone, was, “wouldn’t you want someone a little more spiritually evolved than me to do this?” But I have a tendency to ignore or be completely oblivious to Gifts from God – even when they are so close I can trip over them. So I decided to look at this “giving testimony” thing as an opportunity or gift.
YG and I have been members of First Church for a few years now, after doing a bit of church shopping. We were both raised with religion, and we both realized, gratefully at the same time, that we were missing spirituality and that sense of church community, in our adult lives. I don’t remember when our first visit here was, but I do remember the sign of peace and all the hugging, looking at YG and saying, “no. just no.” I am an awkward hugger and complete social weirdo, especially with strangers, and I couldn’t imagine hugging. In church. YG gave me one of his YG-Let’s-Just-Chill-Out-A-Minute looks, and we stayed. And it was great. Welcoming. It was the first church I felt like I BELONGED in, that was speaking to me. We stayed after for coffee hour (me, begrudgingly), and I think I may have even socially interacted with people without dying.
And then we kept coming back. My stepdaughter, MG, joined the Sunday school classes, Dan married YG and I, and later, when Zygote came along, she was baptized here.
It’s hard to describe and put into words, especially in 3 to 5 minutes, what being here means to us. When people find out that we come here and that we volunteer our time, their initial reaction is usually, “YOU go the church?” followed by “Why?”
Mainly because I can be quiet here. I can listen here. Most of the time, I have a constant monologue running through my head of things I have to do, ways I’m supposed to be, things I’m doing wrong, tasks that need to be accomplished – a laundry list of ways I am somehow not good enough. Sometimes being here is the one hour during the week that I can remember and have some clarity about what I’m doing all those other things FOR. And really, what’s important.
I have been incredibly blessed with a beautiful family and good health and enough money, but I don’t always remember that. Sometimes it feels like we are living from chore to chore, but when I’m here, it’s like there’s a mute button on everything else and I can be still and listen to what God wants me to hear, that still-speaking God that I can drown out in my day-to-day life.
There’s also the community. We’re all a little Cambridge crunchy in our own ways, but this community has come through for us in ways that were completely unexpected and totally amazing. When I was 37 weeks pregnant, YG got sick and suddenly lost his hearing completely in one ear, needing to learn how to use his balance again. Then I had Zygote and began a pretty hideous bout of post-partum depression, while our older daughter was also battling different illnesses and ended up needing an emergency appendectomy. Let’s just say it was not the best Spring.
Through all of this, you gave us food and letters and helped run errands and sometimes just came and sat with me when I felt like I might go crazy. And we never asked for it! Neither YG or I are particularly adept at asking for help, and I much prefer to soldier on alone. Give me more – I can take it. That which does not kill you only makes you stronger. That kind of stuff. But helping is what First Church does. It’s who we are. And I am so grateful.
I’m glad we ended up here. I can listen and learn and contribute where I can. I have never had to prove myself here. People just accept that everyone has gifts to offer, and they welcome them. I hope that being here will give me clarity on how God wants me to use those gifts in the rest of my life.
Sometimes I still have a very Sunday school view of the world, and I want there to be rumbling and thunder and a parting of the clouds and God saying, “JM, this is exactly what you should do with your life and how should do it. Step One: work part time. Step Two: Run far, far away from Corporate America” and so on. This would be VERY convenient for me. Especially, if it was bulleted or in PowerPoint.
But I suspect that this is not how God rolls, and that the real learning will come in figuring it out for myself, with your support on the way. I am grateful for this space to be quiet, to hear and feel what matters, and to be near people who are modeling the ways that I would like to be. Thank you.
tes·ti·mo·ny
[tes-tuh-moh-nee, or, especially Brit., -muh-nee]
–noun, plural -nies.
1. Law . the statement or declaration of a witness under oath or affirmation, usually in court.
2. evidence in support of a fact or statement; proof.
3. open declaration or profession, as of faith.
4. Usually, testimonies. the precepts of god.
5. the Decalogue as inscribed on the two tables of the law, or the ark in which the tables were kept. Ex. 16:34; 25:16.
6. Archaic . a declaration of disapproval; protest.
After being approached to give my testimony, my initial thought, or the one AFTER revivals and speaking in tongues and fire and brimstone, was, “wouldn’t you want someone a little more spiritually evolved than me to do this?” But I have a tendency to ignore or be completely oblivious to Gifts from God – even when they are so close I can trip over them. So I decided to look at this “giving testimony” thing as an opportunity or gift.
YG and I have been members of First Church for a few years now, after doing a bit of church shopping. We were both raised with religion, and we both realized, gratefully at the same time, that we were missing spirituality and that sense of church community, in our adult lives. I don’t remember when our first visit here was, but I do remember the sign of peace and all the hugging, looking at YG and saying, “no. just no.” I am an awkward hugger and complete social weirdo, especially with strangers, and I couldn’t imagine hugging. In church. YG gave me one of his YG-Let’s-Just-Chill-Out-A-Minute looks, and we stayed. And it was great. Welcoming. It was the first church I felt like I BELONGED in, that was speaking to me. We stayed after for coffee hour (me, begrudgingly), and I think I may have even socially interacted with people without dying.
And then we kept coming back. My stepdaughter, MG, joined the Sunday school classes, Dan married YG and I, and later, when Zygote came along, she was baptized here.
It’s hard to describe and put into words, especially in 3 to 5 minutes, what being here means to us. When people find out that we come here and that we volunteer our time, their initial reaction is usually, “YOU go the church?” followed by “Why?”
Mainly because I can be quiet here. I can listen here. Most of the time, I have a constant monologue running through my head of things I have to do, ways I’m supposed to be, things I’m doing wrong, tasks that need to be accomplished – a laundry list of ways I am somehow not good enough. Sometimes being here is the one hour during the week that I can remember and have some clarity about what I’m doing all those other things FOR. And really, what’s important.
I have been incredibly blessed with a beautiful family and good health and enough money, but I don’t always remember that. Sometimes it feels like we are living from chore to chore, but when I’m here, it’s like there’s a mute button on everything else and I can be still and listen to what God wants me to hear, that still-speaking God that I can drown out in my day-to-day life.
There’s also the community. We’re all a little Cambridge crunchy in our own ways, but this community has come through for us in ways that were completely unexpected and totally amazing. When I was 37 weeks pregnant, YG got sick and suddenly lost his hearing completely in one ear, needing to learn how to use his balance again. Then I had Zygote and began a pretty hideous bout of post-partum depression, while our older daughter was also battling different illnesses and ended up needing an emergency appendectomy. Let’s just say it was not the best Spring.
Through all of this, you gave us food and letters and helped run errands and sometimes just came and sat with me when I felt like I might go crazy. And we never asked for it! Neither YG or I are particularly adept at asking for help, and I much prefer to soldier on alone. Give me more – I can take it. That which does not kill you only makes you stronger. That kind of stuff. But helping is what First Church does. It’s who we are. And I am so grateful.
I’m glad we ended up here. I can listen and learn and contribute where I can. I have never had to prove myself here. People just accept that everyone has gifts to offer, and they welcome them. I hope that being here will give me clarity on how God wants me to use those gifts in the rest of my life.
Sometimes I still have a very Sunday school view of the world, and I want there to be rumbling and thunder and a parting of the clouds and God saying, “JM, this is exactly what you should do with your life and how should do it. Step One: work part time. Step Two: Run far, far away from Corporate America” and so on. This would be VERY convenient for me. Especially, if it was bulleted or in PowerPoint.
But I suspect that this is not how God rolls, and that the real learning will come in figuring it out for myself, with your support on the way. I am grateful for this space to be quiet, to hear and feel what matters, and to be near people who are modeling the ways that I would like to be. Thank you.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Patience: The Virtue I Don't Have
I seriously considered biting my child today. She has been whiny and irritated and frustrated. According to the baby books, this is "a normal phase of development" -- the kids want to be doing more and are frustrated that they can't. According to me, it sucks.
I did not bite her. I took the high road and got right in her face and shouted, "Oh my god, what the HELL do you keep whining about?"
File under: Proud Mother.
I did not bite her. I took the high road and got right in her face and shouted, "Oh my god, what the HELL do you keep whining about?"
File under: Proud Mother.
Monday, November 15, 2010
I Was A Young James Dean
Or not. But this is what I was talking about in referring to Girlyman's awesomeness. Girlyman video directed by the even-more-awesome Margaret Cho.
And yes, Ty really is that cute up close, but SKB called her first.
And yes, Ty really is that cute up close, but SKB called her first.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
What I've Been Writing About
Next week is my last week of class, and I'm sad. It's been a royal pain in the ass to make the schedule work, but so great, and makes me sad that nobody will pay me to do this all the time. Because really, you should pay me to write all the time. About things I want to write it. It would really make the world a better place.
Stories that I've written this semester have been about:
1. The time I swallowed a nickel in church
2. My roommates in London
3. Why I like running
4. How fabulous it is when your grandfather dies on Christmas Eve
5. Why I hate "the obesity crisis"
6. My change of perspective moment, also known as how I survived postpartum depression
My teacher is a real stickler for 600 words or less, so it's been a challenge to tell "important" stories in that short a space, but workable. I have gotten lots of good feedback, and I want to take another class.
Other things I've been doing:
1. Reading Jonathan Franzen's new book. Undecided.
2. Going to see Girlyman with SKB and gang, listening obsessively ever since.
3. Listening to a lot of Devotchka.
4. Working on my "testimony." I got asked by my church to do this, and once I got past the initial "do I need to speak in tongues and start converting people?" freaked out ness, I began to enjoy it. I have to stand up and deliver it to the congregation next Sunday, so we'll see how it's received. I already edited out all the swears.
Stories that I've written this semester have been about:
1. The time I swallowed a nickel in church
2. My roommates in London
3. Why I like running
4. How fabulous it is when your grandfather dies on Christmas Eve
5. Why I hate "the obesity crisis"
6. My change of perspective moment, also known as how I survived postpartum depression
My teacher is a real stickler for 600 words or less, so it's been a challenge to tell "important" stories in that short a space, but workable. I have gotten lots of good feedback, and I want to take another class.
Other things I've been doing:
1. Reading Jonathan Franzen's new book. Undecided.
2. Going to see Girlyman with SKB and gang, listening obsessively ever since.
3. Listening to a lot of Devotchka.
4. Working on my "testimony." I got asked by my church to do this, and once I got past the initial "do I need to speak in tongues and start converting people?" freaked out ness, I began to enjoy it. I have to stand up and deliver it to the congregation next Sunday, so we'll see how it's received. I already edited out all the swears.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
We Interrupt This Blogging
To sleep.
Seriously, y'all, I'm tired. Many times I have had itchy blog fingers, but I've taken a nap instead. And by nap, I mean that after-dark time that is supposed to be 8 hours but never is. There's so much going on in the World: the elections, the awesome World Series, Marie Claire's fat hate, Jon Stewart, etc. that I would love to talk about, but the exhaustion at this point is a little overwhelming. I am loving school and am moderately enjoying some volunteer projects I am doing, but that added with a regular job and Zygote = want. vacation.
I'm hoping to be back to some sort of regular schedule soon.
Seriously, y'all, I'm tired. Many times I have had itchy blog fingers, but I've taken a nap instead. And by nap, I mean that after-dark time that is supposed to be 8 hours but never is. There's so much going on in the World: the elections, the awesome World Series, Marie Claire's fat hate, Jon Stewart, etc. that I would love to talk about, but the exhaustion at this point is a little overwhelming. I am loving school and am moderately enjoying some volunteer projects I am doing, but that added with a regular job and Zygote = want. vacation.
I'm hoping to be back to some sort of regular schedule soon.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Obama: It Gets Better
I'm going to put aside my current issues with Obama and DADT, and give him enormous props for doing this.
Hillary's was also good, if a little corporate.
Hillary's was also good, if a little corporate.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Too.Much.Food
This is what happens when you decide you are going to "split" a large order of egg rolls with a small child that a. does not like egg roll, b. should not be eating fried food and c. would prefer to munch on the garnish.
Food coma. Too full to write.
Image courtesy of Hyperbole and a Half: God of Cake, who always makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.
Food coma. Too full to write.
Image courtesy of Hyperbole and a Half: God of Cake, who always makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Running: Tufts 10K for Women
Fastest 10k yet: 1:17:58 at the Tufts 10K for Women today. I ran behind a woman who has been running this race every year for the past 34 years, and then when I crossed the finish line, I got a high five from Joan Benoit Samuelson. Not bad for a race I didn't have much time to train for.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
A Little Bit Thornton Melon
I'm embarrassed to admit how much I love Back to School. I believe I may have actually seen this movie at the theater, and I know that I've watched it pretty much whenever it comes one of the bad local tv stations at night. I was convinced that school was going to be exactly like that. Um, well, not exactly.
It's been a while since I've taken a writing class. I took one the semester before Z was born, and I meant to go back, but Z's a handful and I wasn't sure how to balance her, work, me, training for the half, volunteer work, etc.
I'm now enrolled in a class about writing personal essays. I've taken a class with this teacher before, and I was vaguely intimidated by him. He won't bullshit you or tell you your stuff is good when it isn't. Two years ago, when I took his Humorous Writing class, he told me that one of my stories about getting drunk in college and throwing up on my roommate's crush's bed was neither funny or interesting. But then he told me that my 'Letter to An Ex-Husband" was brilliant and amazing. I like him.
The class is an interesting mix of people, and I am one of the youngest. Our first assignment was to write about a childhood memory and the stories were amazing. Some light (read: me swallowing a nickel in church) and some very deep like this beautiful story about a girl making her alcoholic father happy for the first time. Everyone seems to have a very poetic writing style, which is also a bit intimidating since that is not how I write AT ALL. There is nothing worse that having to follow the reading of a guy who described seeing his childhood friends killed at a pool party during fighting in Lebanon with your story about your own personal tragedy of that time you farted at work. (And yes that really happened.) I'm a little scared, but also relieved and excited to be back in school.
Next week's assignment is to write about a photograph that represents a certain time in your life. I spent some time leafing through albums and discovered a photo of all my London roommates dressed in our Halloween costumes. I have no idea if I'll use this one or not, but oh, the memories. London was about as close to Thornton Melon as I'll ever be.
It's been a while since I've taken a writing class. I took one the semester before Z was born, and I meant to go back, but Z's a handful and I wasn't sure how to balance her, work, me, training for the half, volunteer work, etc.
I'm now enrolled in a class about writing personal essays. I've taken a class with this teacher before, and I was vaguely intimidated by him. He won't bullshit you or tell you your stuff is good when it isn't. Two years ago, when I took his Humorous Writing class, he told me that one of my stories about getting drunk in college and throwing up on my roommate's crush's bed was neither funny or interesting. But then he told me that my 'Letter to An Ex-Husband" was brilliant and amazing. I like him.
The class is an interesting mix of people, and I am one of the youngest. Our first assignment was to write about a childhood memory and the stories were amazing. Some light (read: me swallowing a nickel in church) and some very deep like this beautiful story about a girl making her alcoholic father happy for the first time. Everyone seems to have a very poetic writing style, which is also a bit intimidating since that is not how I write AT ALL. There is nothing worse that having to follow the reading of a guy who described seeing his childhood friends killed at a pool party during fighting in Lebanon with your story about your own personal tragedy of that time you farted at work. (And yes that really happened.) I'm a little scared, but also relieved and excited to be back in school.
Next week's assignment is to write about a photograph that represents a certain time in your life. I spent some time leafing through albums and discovered a photo of all my London roommates dressed in our Halloween costumes. I have no idea if I'll use this one or not, but oh, the memories. London was about as close to Thornton Melon as I'll ever be.
Friday, October 01, 2010
It Gets Better
I meant to write about Dan Savage's It Gets Better project earlier this week. I had watched some of the videos, sniffling my way through them. But after this week, and the tragedies at Rutgers and the other schools, I want to give this guy the Nobel Prize. From his column:
I love that there are already so many videos up on this site. I love that Ellen and Neil Patrick Harris are speaking out.
I really hate that they have to.
"Nine out of 10 gay teenagers experience bullying and harassment at school, and gay teens are four times likelier to attempt suicide. Many LGBT kids who do kill themselves live in rural areas, exurbs, and suburban areas, places with no gay organizations or services for queer kids.
"My heart breaks for the pain and torment you went through, Billy Lucas," a reader wrote after I posted about Billy Lucas to my blog. "I wish I could have told you that things get better."
I had the same reaction: I wish I could have talked to this kid for five minutes. I wish I could have told Billy that it gets better. I wish I could have told him that, however bad things were, however isolated and alone he was, it gets better.
But gay adults aren't allowed to talk to these kids. Schools and churches don't bring us in to talk to teenagers who are being bullied. Many of these kids have homophobic parents who believe that they can prevent their gay children from growing up to be gay—or from ever coming out—by depriving them of information, resources, and positive role models."
I love that there are already so many videos up on this site. I love that Ellen and Neil Patrick Harris are speaking out.
I really hate that they have to.
Does Privacy Even Exist Anymore?
I would say that's a big fat No. Examples:
1. The Duke graduate who decided to publish a "fuck list" with photos and lurid details of guys she slept with. In Powerpoint.
2. The two classless and homophobic students that webcasted a roommate having sex. In case you live under a rock, that kid, Tyler Clementi, later threw himself off the George Washington Bridge.
More on this later.
1. The Duke graduate who decided to publish a "fuck list" with photos and lurid details of guys she slept with. In Powerpoint.
2. The two classless and homophobic students that webcasted a roommate having sex. In case you live under a rock, that kid, Tyler Clementi, later threw himself off the George Washington Bridge.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Why Do You HATE AMERICA, Anderson Cooper?
I have loved my silver fox, Anderson Cooper, ever since he was on Channel One. I love him even more when he calls people on their bullshit.
My friend, Kacey, shared this first one, where he interviews Renee Ellmers, a Republican House candidate from North Carolina, who uses terrorist interchangeably with Muslim. The milisecond that Cooper catches her off guard, she immediately says,
"Are you anti-religion? Are you anti-Christian in your thinking?" No debate -- just you hate Jesus.
Then last night, he interviewed Andrew Shirvell, an assistant attorney general in Michigan, about Shirvell's campaign against University of Michigan student assembly president Chris Armstrong, who is openly gay. This fucker actually has stalked this guy, blogs about him, and posts pictures of him with Nazi symbols embedded in the rainbow flag. This is a scary, scary PUBLIC OFFICIAL. Cooper takes him down.
He is awesome, and I'm sure that all the ridiculous people that support Ellmers and Shirvell will immediately say that he hates America.
My friend, Kacey, shared this first one, where he interviews Renee Ellmers, a Republican House candidate from North Carolina, who uses terrorist interchangeably with Muslim. The milisecond that Cooper catches her off guard, she immediately says,
"Are you anti-religion? Are you anti-Christian in your thinking?" No debate -- just you hate Jesus.
Then last night, he interviewed Andrew Shirvell, an assistant attorney general in Michigan, about Shirvell's campaign against University of Michigan student assembly president Chris Armstrong, who is openly gay. This fucker actually has stalked this guy, blogs about him, and posts pictures of him with Nazi symbols embedded in the rainbow flag. This is a scary, scary PUBLIC OFFICIAL. Cooper takes him down.
He is awesome, and I'm sure that all the ridiculous people that support Ellmers and Shirvell will immediately say that he hates America.
Monday, September 27, 2010
When You Get a Call From Costco About Beetle Crap In Your Kid’s Formula
Last Friday night, I ignored a phone call from an 800 number. I hate talking on the phone. I hate telemarketers even more. If you call me and I don’t recognize your number, it’s most likely you’re going straight to voice mail. This time, the 800 caller left a message, though, so I was intrigued. The retrieved message was from Costco notifying me that Similac formula I had bought months ago was part of the recent recall and that I should throw it out to be safe. I shrugged and hung up. I stopped feeding Zygote formula months ago, and the formula she did drink was very minimal compared to her breastmilk intake – nothing to worry about here.
I didn’t think about the recall again until I was consulting Dr. Google about why my normally voracious eater had pretty much stopped eating anything except oatmeal and mashed fruit. This led me to the recall site where I read, “Abbott…detected the remote possibility of the presence of a small common beetle in the product produced in one production area in a single manufacturing facility. The United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has determined that while the formula containing these beetles poses no immediate health risk, there is a possibility that infants who consume formula containing the beetles or their larvae, could experience symptoms of gastrointestinal discomfort and refusal to eat as a result of small insect parts irritating the GI tract. If these symptoms persist for more than a few days, a physician should be consulted.” Hmmm…interesting. While I was pondering the possibility of a small insect colony setting up shop in Zygote’s lower intestine, I looked over and noticed her devouring a cheese stick, followed by an inhalation of edamame. Then a lot of pointing and whining in the general direction of a box of Cheerios. She had not been invaded by beetles, just “exerting her toddler independence at mealtime” which seems to be the polite way of saying “acting like a possessed demon.”
I don’t know what I would have done if she actually was infested with beetles. Took her to the doctor? Got her some medicine to make her feel better? Sat her on my lap and read her favorite books and played with her hair to comfort her? Probably. You know what I would not have done? I would not have felt guilty about giving her formula, because my guilt won’t really do jack for her.
Apparently, this would not have been the right approach. I should definitely feel very, very, very guilty. If you read the mommy boards (which I do because I like to know that there is always someone out there more batshit crazy than me), you have probably seen all the “tsk, tsk” and “well, if you didn’t feed your baby POISON, you wouldn’t have to worry about beetles” or “This is what happens with formula. DID YOU KNOW..that breast is best?” Did I know? Seriously? Yes, I did know. I live in Cambridge, one of the most liberal cities in the country, home to ‘the Kremlin on the Charles,’ home to gazillions of doulas, lactation consultants, nursing mothers groups, babywearers associations, cloth diaper services, how to make your own organic baby food classes, and so on. You really think I NEVER HEARD that breastfeeding is best for my kid? That I have been sitting here, ignorant and uneducated, waiting for you to help me see the light about breastfeeding? Really?
I read this wonderful post, The Similac Formula Recall Is Not a Punchline and loved this:
I hate that I even have to defend why I ever used formula, but I realize that if I’m frothing at the mouth about something, people probably would like some kind of back story. Here you go. It was always my intention to breastfeed Zygote, and I would say that I am firmly in the pro-breastfeeding camp. I don’t like the big business of formula, and I think that the marketing of formula in areas where people have no access to money and/or clean water is pretty gross. You know the benefits of breastfeeding, so I won’t repeat them here.
And then I got postpartum depression. FUN! The sheer neverendingness of breastfeeding was just one more thing that was making me feel INSANE. I felt like all I did was move from chair to chair, feeding and feeding and feeding, with nothing but time to think some really, really dark stuff about how, if I just got slightly injured (nothing fatal), someone else would have to take care of the baby and what a relief that would be. That thought was enough to scare the shit out of me, and I got on some meds pronto and made the decision to supplement with one bottle a day to give myself some breathing room and just the feeling that I could separate from Z if I needed to. It made the transition make to work much easier, helped with pumping, and made me a much calmer and happier mother. I started that at six weeks and continued the one bottle until Z abruptly decided to stop nursing at 11months, moving on to bigger and better things, like steak. I never felt guilty about it and I don’t now. The only guilt I felt was about not being emotionally present for my kid those first few weeks, but I realize I need to cut myself a break on that one.
I expect that much of parenting is going to be like this – having lots of intentions and dreams and goals, but needing to modify to make things work best for my kid, my family and me. I don’t really see the point in ‘shoulding’ all over people or making them feel guilty if what’s right for me doesn’t work for them.
Erin Shea (one of my favorite bloggers and someone I’ve been following since I first discovered blogs all those eons ago) posted on this same topic, and I especially loved this:
Amen. I just don’t see the point in being a dick in situations where being a dick is not called for. And if I’m going to be a dick to you, I will at least be a polite dick, and hope we can have a reasonable conversation.
I didn’t think about the recall again until I was consulting Dr. Google about why my normally voracious eater had pretty much stopped eating anything except oatmeal and mashed fruit. This led me to the recall site where I read, “Abbott…detected the remote possibility of the presence of a small common beetle in the product produced in one production area in a single manufacturing facility. The United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has determined that while the formula containing these beetles poses no immediate health risk, there is a possibility that infants who consume formula containing the beetles or their larvae, could experience symptoms of gastrointestinal discomfort and refusal to eat as a result of small insect parts irritating the GI tract. If these symptoms persist for more than a few days, a physician should be consulted.” Hmmm…interesting. While I was pondering the possibility of a small insect colony setting up shop in Zygote’s lower intestine, I looked over and noticed her devouring a cheese stick, followed by an inhalation of edamame. Then a lot of pointing and whining in the general direction of a box of Cheerios. She had not been invaded by beetles, just “exerting her toddler independence at mealtime” which seems to be the polite way of saying “acting like a possessed demon.”
I don’t know what I would have done if she actually was infested with beetles. Took her to the doctor? Got her some medicine to make her feel better? Sat her on my lap and read her favorite books and played with her hair to comfort her? Probably. You know what I would not have done? I would not have felt guilty about giving her formula, because my guilt won’t really do jack for her.
Apparently, this would not have been the right approach. I should definitely feel very, very, very guilty. If you read the mommy boards (which I do because I like to know that there is always someone out there more batshit crazy than me), you have probably seen all the “tsk, tsk” and “well, if you didn’t feed your baby POISON, you wouldn’t have to worry about beetles” or “This is what happens with formula. DID YOU KNOW..that breast is best?” Did I know? Seriously? Yes, I did know. I live in Cambridge, one of the most liberal cities in the country, home to ‘the Kremlin on the Charles,’ home to gazillions of doulas, lactation consultants, nursing mothers groups, babywearers associations, cloth diaper services, how to make your own organic baby food classes, and so on. You really think I NEVER HEARD that breastfeeding is best for my kid? That I have been sitting here, ignorant and uneducated, waiting for you to help me see the light about breastfeeding? Really?
I read this wonderful post, The Similac Formula Recall Is Not a Punchline and loved this:
“Life happens. Formula happens. You know who formula happens to, in particular? Women who can’t breastfeed. Fathers caring for babies on their own. Adoptive parents caring for babies. You know what those parents don’t want to read? Shitty, spiteful comments about how “well if you were breastfeeding, you wouldn’t have to worry about feeding your kid beetle parts.”
I hate that I even have to defend why I ever used formula, but I realize that if I’m frothing at the mouth about something, people probably would like some kind of back story. Here you go. It was always my intention to breastfeed Zygote, and I would say that I am firmly in the pro-breastfeeding camp. I don’t like the big business of formula, and I think that the marketing of formula in areas where people have no access to money and/or clean water is pretty gross. You know the benefits of breastfeeding, so I won’t repeat them here.
And then I got postpartum depression. FUN! The sheer neverendingness of breastfeeding was just one more thing that was making me feel INSANE. I felt like all I did was move from chair to chair, feeding and feeding and feeding, with nothing but time to think some really, really dark stuff about how, if I just got slightly injured (nothing fatal), someone else would have to take care of the baby and what a relief that would be. That thought was enough to scare the shit out of me, and I got on some meds pronto and made the decision to supplement with one bottle a day to give myself some breathing room and just the feeling that I could separate from Z if I needed to. It made the transition make to work much easier, helped with pumping, and made me a much calmer and happier mother. I started that at six weeks and continued the one bottle until Z abruptly decided to stop nursing at 11months, moving on to bigger and better things, like steak. I never felt guilty about it and I don’t now. The only guilt I felt was about not being emotionally present for my kid those first few weeks, but I realize I need to cut myself a break on that one.
I expect that much of parenting is going to be like this – having lots of intentions and dreams and goals, but needing to modify to make things work best for my kid, my family and me. I don’t really see the point in ‘shoulding’ all over people or making them feel guilty if what’s right for me doesn’t work for them.
Erin Shea (one of my favorite bloggers and someone I’ve been following since I first discovered blogs all those eons ago) posted on this same topic, and I especially loved this:
“Even more baffling to me is why, to my friend Jackie’s point, people feel “duty-bound” to “educate” others to the point where it’s intrusive and rude.
Or, you know, they’re advocating by being an asshole.
Here’s the thing about advocating by asshole: the people who you have no hope of converting think you’re an asshole. And the people who you do have a chance of converting think you’re an asshole, too. And everyone who agrees with your position wishes you’d just shut up or at least learn a modicum of manners.”
Amen. I just don’t see the point in being a dick in situations where being a dick is not called for. And if I’m going to be a dick to you, I will at least be a polite dick, and hope we can have a reasonable conversation.
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