In fewer than 12 hours, I consumed approximately four cupcakes on Thursday and Friday. I believe that the enormous amount of buttercream frosting that I absorbed in that short time frame negatively impacted my ability to think. It is a little known fact (because I just made it up) that large amounts of frosting can clog the brain's pathways, causing a cupcake abuser to harp on an irrational fear that the selection on an unqualified running mate (and this is from the crazy conservative Murdoch-owned rag, The NY Post!) would guarantee a Republican victory in November. (In reality, this victory is ensured by rampant cheating by tampering with voting machines, providing an inadequate number of machines in Democratic strongholds, and disqualifying voters for arbitrary reasons.)
Fortunately, once I ingested some protein and broke up the frosting block, I realized my silliness. While I visit my friend in DC this weekend, I will be sure to eat properly so that this does not happen again. Very important lesson learned.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Un-Conventional
I was just starting to recover this morning from my post Democratic Convention hang over (I ate 2.5 many cupcakes in a pathetic attempt to savor the sweet taste of victory) when I read that McCain chose Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin to be his running mate. She's about as qualified as I am for high office (OK, she's slightly more qualified in that she is Constitutionally old enough and I am not) except that she has more scandals. But I find it depressing.
I'm scared for the future. Good thing I ate another 1.25 cupcakes for breakfast before I read the news.
Update, 7:23 PM EST: I feel a little bit better about the situation now. I saw her speak, and she was as inspiring as a dead salmon pulled from a river polluted by oil drilling. Further, some of the arguments of her supporters are cracking me up. Someone actually suggested that she has a lot of foreign policy expertise because she shares a border with Canada. Not to dis Canada, which I am sure if a tough negotiator on road access or whatever, but that just makes me laugh. I'm taking a deep breath, and waiting to see what happens.
I'm scared for the future. Good thing I ate another 1.25 cupcakes for breakfast before I read the news.
Update, 7:23 PM EST: I feel a little bit better about the situation now. I saw her speak, and she was as inspiring as a dead salmon pulled from a river polluted by oil drilling. Further, some of the arguments of her supporters are cracking me up. Someone actually suggested that she has a lot of foreign policy expertise because she shares a border with Canada. Not to dis Canada, which I am sure if a tough negotiator on road access or whatever, but that just makes me laugh. I'm taking a deep breath, and waiting to see what happens.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Blog Book Tour: Welcome Liza Monroy!
Looking for a good read this Labor Day weekend? Consider Mexican High, a fascinating novel about Mila, an American girl who spends her senior year at an exclusive high school in Mexico City when her diplomat mom is assigned to Mexico. Mexican High is written by my first writing instructor (and full disclosure, friend) Liza Monroy. Liza stopped by CUSS to answer a few of my questions about the book:
You clearly state in your author's note (which I found very funny) that the book is only "marginally inspired" by your experience at a high school in Mexico, but some of the most compelling parts of the book to me were the ones in which Mila talks about the inequality in Mexican society. Yet Maggie (Mila's mother) seems rather clueless about the local culture, preferring to think of Mexico City as similar to her experiences many years before at the beach. How much of that is something that you observed, and has it impacted you?
Thanks for saying that about my author's note! I meant it as a humorous takeoff on those lawsuit-prevention tactics. That dynamic between Mila and Maggie is intentionally representative of the tension between how we tend to perceive Mexico from the U.S. and the realities of daily life there. Maggie tells Mila to get a new wardrobe with lots of tropical colors, and Mila refuses. The fashions in Mexico City are more akin to those in Paris than Cancun. Since Maggie spent time in a beach town, she imagines the whole country as being like that. Her heart is in the right place, blending in with the culture, but she takes it to an unfortunate extreme, like when she paints the house she lives in with Mila bright orange, yellow, and pink to look more like Frida Kahlo's.
When I first moved to Mexico City I had no preconceived notions, other than at over seven thousand feet, and temperature lows dipping into the 40s, it wasn't going to be a beachy climate, so I rejected the tropical-colors idea which did, in fact, come from my mother, who would probably appreciate if I reiterated here that the character Maggie isn't based on her. I took my mother's career and some of the funnier kinds of things she said and gave those to Maggie. But from there I created a monster, so to speak.
I also grew up in the 1990s, and I also loved how the book captures the pop culture from that time. Did you feel that the era was essential to the story that you wanted to tell?
I wanted to tell the story of the years I spent in high school in Mexico City, originally, which happened to be in the 90s, when the country was in political and economic turmoil. I lived there from 1993 to 97, so I had more years than Mila, who only goes to Mexico for her senior year. I chose the 93-94 year because it was the most dramatic. The pop culture trickling down from the States -- grunge and so forth -- was also really popular in Mexico City. It just so happened that the music and style that came about during that time period captured the tone and mood I had in mind for the novel. The 93-94 period saw the assassination of the favored presidential candidate, Luis Donaldo Colosio, a near-eruption of the Popocatepetl volcano, the EZLN revolutionaries in Chiapas, and the peso devaluation from 3 to a dollar to around 10. It was chaotic. Nirvana might have been the perfect soundtrack. I went back and re-listened to all the music from high school, the same way I re-read the news from the time.
Later on, I saw Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal interviewed at the Tribeca Film Festival for their documentary, Chavez, about the famous Mexican boxer. They talked about Chavez's personal narrative having a similar arc to 1994, the year of corruption, devaluation, eruption, and revolution. The book was done by then, but when I look back on it now, Mila's turbulent year tracks Mexico City's, too.
"Mexican High" reminds me in a lot of ways of "Gossip Girl" in that parents are largely absent, there's a lot of drug and alcohol use, the characters are wealthy, fashion is pre-eminent, and sex is rampant, but your novel is marketed as an adult read rather than young adult. Is there a target audience that you had in mind, and what age reader do you think is appropriate for your book?
When I was writing the novel, I wasn't sure whether, if it were to be published, it would be young adult or adult. I just wrote the book I wanted to write and didn't really worry about it. I figured if it got out there, it would find its audience and a publisher would be better schooled in how and where to market a book than I was. I think the general idea is that young adults will read "up" -- meaning they will browse the non-YA sections of a bookstore, whereas adults wouldn't read YA. There was a great essay by Margo Rabb in the New York Times Book Review called "I'm YA and I'm OK" about the conflict between what was YA and what was an adult book with a teen narrator or protagonist. Were MEXICAN HIGH marketed as Young Adult, I would have been just as happy because I loved reading as a teen, and those books shaped my love of literature, so to be thought of as a voice that could reach teenagers would be something I'd think of as an honor because it's a tough audience to engage.
Ultimately, the novel was decided an "adult" book. I think my publishers were considering it in the vein of PREP and other novels with teenage main characters that have adult themes. Also, since Mila is looking back on her senior year from a time when she's older, which I actually had all worked out in an epilogue that was cut out, the perspective is more of an adult going back than a seventeen-year-old in the present. If she was seventeen in ninety-three, she's now thirty-two -- older than I am!
Although there is a lot of sex in the book, there is also a lot of hypocrisy about women as sexual beings versus the need to stay pure, and I was surprised by the sexual violence. The rich kids also have parents who engage in corruption and illegal activities, and I thought there was a connection between the two types of duality in people's lives. Could you talk a little bit more about that?
Well Mexico is a Catholic country, so the attitudes about sex conform to that. However, the politician going to church on Sunday with his family could also be secretly organizing an assassination on Monday morning. There's an innate duality to who the teenagers and parents are to their families, and who they are to their peers. That's a universal concept but in Mexico City, and in my novel, it's a more extreme case, because at a school in the U.S. or basically the rest of the world, you don't have the bodyguards outside of the school, protecting the kids from kidnapping. You don't have the small inner circle of power who have such intricate relationships --- in the book, the man Mila believes could be her father may or may not have had her boyfriend Manuel's father assassinated. It's a reality many of the kids had to live with.
As for the sexual violence, it's a sad reality of high school that date rapes happen, but the lawlessness of the environment in MEXICAN HIGH makes it easier to get away with. There is a part in the book where a boy's father has medical information intercepted and destroyed. He also might have paid off the doctor who examined the victim. Money was a way to get around things at that time in Mexico. As a character in MEXICAN HIGH says, "everyone's got their hand out."
-----
Thanks again to Liza Monroy for visiting CUSS to talk about her book, Mexican High.
You clearly state in your author's note (which I found very funny) that the book is only "marginally inspired" by your experience at a high school in Mexico, but some of the most compelling parts of the book to me were the ones in which Mila talks about the inequality in Mexican society. Yet Maggie (Mila's mother) seems rather clueless about the local culture, preferring to think of Mexico City as similar to her experiences many years before at the beach. How much of that is something that you observed, and has it impacted you?
Thanks for saying that about my author's note! I meant it as a humorous takeoff on those lawsuit-prevention tactics. That dynamic between Mila and Maggie is intentionally representative of the tension between how we tend to perceive Mexico from the U.S. and the realities of daily life there. Maggie tells Mila to get a new wardrobe with lots of tropical colors, and Mila refuses. The fashions in Mexico City are more akin to those in Paris than Cancun. Since Maggie spent time in a beach town, she imagines the whole country as being like that. Her heart is in the right place, blending in with the culture, but she takes it to an unfortunate extreme, like when she paints the house she lives in with Mila bright orange, yellow, and pink to look more like Frida Kahlo's.
When I first moved to Mexico City I had no preconceived notions, other than at over seven thousand feet, and temperature lows dipping into the 40s, it wasn't going to be a beachy climate, so I rejected the tropical-colors idea which did, in fact, come from my mother, who would probably appreciate if I reiterated here that the character Maggie isn't based on her. I took my mother's career and some of the funnier kinds of things she said and gave those to Maggie. But from there I created a monster, so to speak.
I also grew up in the 1990s, and I also loved how the book captures the pop culture from that time. Did you feel that the era was essential to the story that you wanted to tell?
I wanted to tell the story of the years I spent in high school in Mexico City, originally, which happened to be in the 90s, when the country was in political and economic turmoil. I lived there from 1993 to 97, so I had more years than Mila, who only goes to Mexico for her senior year. I chose the 93-94 year because it was the most dramatic. The pop culture trickling down from the States -- grunge and so forth -- was also really popular in Mexico City. It just so happened that the music and style that came about during that time period captured the tone and mood I had in mind for the novel. The 93-94 period saw the assassination of the favored presidential candidate, Luis Donaldo Colosio, a near-eruption of the Popocatepetl volcano, the EZLN revolutionaries in Chiapas, and the peso devaluation from 3 to a dollar to around 10. It was chaotic. Nirvana might have been the perfect soundtrack. I went back and re-listened to all the music from high school, the same way I re-read the news from the time.
Later on, I saw Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal interviewed at the Tribeca Film Festival for their documentary, Chavez, about the famous Mexican boxer. They talked about Chavez's personal narrative having a similar arc to 1994, the year of corruption, devaluation, eruption, and revolution. The book was done by then, but when I look back on it now, Mila's turbulent year tracks Mexico City's, too.
"Mexican High" reminds me in a lot of ways of "Gossip Girl" in that parents are largely absent, there's a lot of drug and alcohol use, the characters are wealthy, fashion is pre-eminent, and sex is rampant, but your novel is marketed as an adult read rather than young adult. Is there a target audience that you had in mind, and what age reader do you think is appropriate for your book?
When I was writing the novel, I wasn't sure whether, if it were to be published, it would be young adult or adult. I just wrote the book I wanted to write and didn't really worry about it. I figured if it got out there, it would find its audience and a publisher would be better schooled in how and where to market a book than I was. I think the general idea is that young adults will read "up" -- meaning they will browse the non-YA sections of a bookstore, whereas adults wouldn't read YA. There was a great essay by Margo Rabb in the New York Times Book Review called "I'm YA and I'm OK" about the conflict between what was YA and what was an adult book with a teen narrator or protagonist. Were MEXICAN HIGH marketed as Young Adult, I would have been just as happy because I loved reading as a teen, and those books shaped my love of literature, so to be thought of as a voice that could reach teenagers would be something I'd think of as an honor because it's a tough audience to engage.
Ultimately, the novel was decided an "adult" book. I think my publishers were considering it in the vein of PREP and other novels with teenage main characters that have adult themes. Also, since Mila is looking back on her senior year from a time when she's older, which I actually had all worked out in an epilogue that was cut out, the perspective is more of an adult going back than a seventeen-year-old in the present. If she was seventeen in ninety-three, she's now thirty-two -- older than I am!
Although there is a lot of sex in the book, there is also a lot of hypocrisy about women as sexual beings versus the need to stay pure, and I was surprised by the sexual violence. The rich kids also have parents who engage in corruption and illegal activities, and I thought there was a connection between the two types of duality in people's lives. Could you talk a little bit more about that?
Well Mexico is a Catholic country, so the attitudes about sex conform to that. However, the politician going to church on Sunday with his family could also be secretly organizing an assassination on Monday morning. There's an innate duality to who the teenagers and parents are to their families, and who they are to their peers. That's a universal concept but in Mexico City, and in my novel, it's a more extreme case, because at a school in the U.S. or basically the rest of the world, you don't have the bodyguards outside of the school, protecting the kids from kidnapping. You don't have the small inner circle of power who have such intricate relationships --- in the book, the man Mila believes could be her father may or may not have had her boyfriend Manuel's father assassinated. It's a reality many of the kids had to live with.
As for the sexual violence, it's a sad reality of high school that date rapes happen, but the lawlessness of the environment in MEXICAN HIGH makes it easier to get away with. There is a part in the book where a boy's father has medical information intercepted and destroyed. He also might have paid off the doctor who examined the victim. Money was a way to get around things at that time in Mexico. As a character in MEXICAN HIGH says, "everyone's got their hand out."
-----
Thanks again to Liza Monroy for visiting CUSS to talk about her book, Mexican High.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Conventions and Orientations
Twenty years ago, I sat home and watched the Republican convention on TV every day. I was annoyed that there was nothing else on the boob tube to entertain me as I worked on a Strawberry Shortcake latch hook rug. (This is not to say that I did not find the programming interesting. In fact, it hooked - hardee har har, no pun intended - me onto politics.) Today, I'm disturbed by how little of the political conventions are televised on non-cable channels. I hope people really do get their information from other reliable sources. (Or maybe everyone has cable and is glued to news programming.)
Twenty years ago, I thought that I would be a lawyer who would defend abused children when I grew up. Last night, I went to the orientation for the writing program I will attend for the next two years. It was a semi-familiar late-August event for me, as it is my third graduate program in 11 years. (I attended Fordham University Law School for two days in 1997 before acting on the realization that my childhood ambition for my adulthood was not my young adulthood ambition; I went on to receive a Masters in Public Administration with a concentration in social welfare policy from Columbia University in 2000.) My friend Kim is also attending the MFA program at New School, so I felt a little less pressure. Still, it is scary meeting new people and trying new things. After 11 years working in public service, this writing thing is very new territory.
The good news is that everyone I spoke with was friendly and interesting. While I expected people to ask me who my literary idols are (to which I would be forced to admit are Carl Hiaason, Stephen King, and Lemony Snicket) and then snub me for my low brow tastes, no such incident occurred. I even was one of the last people to leave the post-orientation social event. This is not to say that there aren't people who immediately annoyed the crap out of me (I wouldn't be me otherwise!), but really, people were awesome. I far less nervous now, and so excited to start on Tuesday.
Twenty years ago, I thought that I would be a lawyer who would defend abused children when I grew up. Last night, I went to the orientation for the writing program I will attend for the next two years. It was a semi-familiar late-August event for me, as it is my third graduate program in 11 years. (I attended Fordham University Law School for two days in 1997 before acting on the realization that my childhood ambition for my adulthood was not my young adulthood ambition; I went on to receive a Masters in Public Administration with a concentration in social welfare policy from Columbia University in 2000.) My friend Kim is also attending the MFA program at New School, so I felt a little less pressure. Still, it is scary meeting new people and trying new things. After 11 years working in public service, this writing thing is very new territory.
The good news is that everyone I spoke with was friendly and interesting. While I expected people to ask me who my literary idols are (to which I would be forced to admit are Carl Hiaason, Stephen King, and Lemony Snicket) and then snub me for my low brow tastes, no such incident occurred. I even was one of the last people to leave the post-orientation social event. This is not to say that there aren't people who immediately annoyed the crap out of me (I wouldn't be me otherwise!), but really, people were awesome. I far less nervous now, and so excited to start on Tuesday.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
"No How, No Way, and No McCain"
Rock on, Hillary Clinton. You've pissed me off pretty badly during this election. I gave up on you around March, which is when I voted in the New York primary. If only you had not listened to that douche bag Mark Penn, perhaps things would be different. Tonight your speech at the Democratic National Convention is excellent. You are funny, smart, and personable. (Maybe Husband will now stop threatening to use his non-existent fortune to impeach you.)
Bill, though? If they show his teary eyed, red nosed, W.C. Fields face, one more time, I will scream. And if he mouths, "I love you," again, I will absolutely puke. I'm so over Bill.
Bill, though? If they show his teary eyed, red nosed, W.C. Fields face, one more time, I will scream. And if he mouths, "I love you," again, I will absolutely puke. I'm so over Bill.
Greed
When I was a wee lass, my family situation was typical of a lot of American families. We generally had enough income for food, safe shelter, and non-designer clothing, plus some extra for a movie or other basic entertainment. Vacations involved stuffing my parents, grandparents, sister, and me into our blue Cutlass with a hole in the fabric covering of the back seat, then driving four hours to a resort in Michigan filled with elderly Jews and mold. We also could indulge in a baseball (i.e. - Cubs) game or even two without having to hock the family jewels, which was good since we didn't have any family jewels to hock.
Sadly, kids growing up today face ever increasing levels of corporate greed, making it nearly impossible for their hard working parents to offer them these comforts. This morning's New York Times had a cover story on how much it will cost to go to a baseball game next summer. Basically, both the Yankees and the Mets (go Mets!) are building new stadiums, much of which is financed by taxpayer funds. Instead of repaying the good citizens of New York City for their generosity, they are almost doubling the price of tickets. Right now, the cheapest tickets available for a Mets game are "value" tickets, which actually are a good value at $5 to sit in the back row in the highest tier of Shea Stadium. (They are only $5, though, on days when the Mets play teams that no one wants to see in April. On peak game days against popular teams, they are $35 for the same shitty seats. This tiered pricing was also something that my parents did not have to deal with - it cost the same amount to sit in the far corner on the third base line whether we played our arch-nemesis the St. Louis Cardinals or the San Francisco Giants.)
How the hell are parents supposed to take their kids to a baseball game if tickets are $50 and up per person to sit in the worst seats in the house? Don't working people have a right to some leisure and relaxation, too? Even if a family could afford to go to a game, is it worth it? It would be $200+ for a family of four for the shitty seats. The Mets better fucking win every game they play in their new stadium for that price.
If people don't have any heirlooms to sell, I'm not sure how the baseball team owners expect to fill their new stadiums. And honestly, I hope that they don't. I hope that they have tons of empty seats at every damn game (except the ones with $10 seats, as that strikes me as a fair price since a movie here costs $12). I hope that their greed causes them to lose money hand over fist until they remember that unlike them, most people fucking work for a living.
Sadly, kids growing up today face ever increasing levels of corporate greed, making it nearly impossible for their hard working parents to offer them these comforts. This morning's New York Times had a cover story on how much it will cost to go to a baseball game next summer. Basically, both the Yankees and the Mets (go Mets!) are building new stadiums, much of which is financed by taxpayer funds. Instead of repaying the good citizens of New York City for their generosity, they are almost doubling the price of tickets. Right now, the cheapest tickets available for a Mets game are "value" tickets, which actually are a good value at $5 to sit in the back row in the highest tier of Shea Stadium. (They are only $5, though, on days when the Mets play teams that no one wants to see in April. On peak game days against popular teams, they are $35 for the same shitty seats. This tiered pricing was also something that my parents did not have to deal with - it cost the same amount to sit in the far corner on the third base line whether we played our arch-nemesis the St. Louis Cardinals or the San Francisco Giants.)
How the hell are parents supposed to take their kids to a baseball game if tickets are $50 and up per person to sit in the worst seats in the house? Don't working people have a right to some leisure and relaxation, too? Even if a family could afford to go to a game, is it worth it? It would be $200+ for a family of four for the shitty seats. The Mets better fucking win every game they play in their new stadium for that price.
If people don't have any heirlooms to sell, I'm not sure how the baseball team owners expect to fill their new stadiums. And honestly, I hope that they don't. I hope that they have tons of empty seats at every damn game (except the ones with $10 seats, as that strikes me as a fair price since a movie here costs $12). I hope that their greed causes them to lose money hand over fist until they remember that unlike them, most people fucking work for a living.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Registration
This afternoon is the first day of registration for incoming students at the New School MFA program. Deep breath. I'm nervous as hell. The writing workshops don't scare me as much as the literary courses do. I only took one literature course in college, and that was 13 years ago. Oof. As for the writing part, I'm still grappling with the difference between "literary" versus "magazine-y" writing. For example, I consider this passage from Saturday's post about my toilet to be literary, what with the ghost imagery and all:
Somehow, I suspect that working these lines into something I submit for class will not earn me accolades, though.
For the first five or so years that we resided at this apartment, our industrial-type toilet (it has no tank) dealt very effectively with the digestive abuse we hurled upon it. Then last year, I noticed a change. After I flushed and the water settled, wisps of toilet paper drifted back up from the pipe, like ghosts haunting the bowl. Even the most basic uses of the toilet required an after-flush to send the restless toilet paper souls back to their watery graves. Still, the hardier matter went away and didn't reappear.
Somehow, I suspect that working these lines into something I submit for class will not earn me accolades, though.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Presidential Election '08 and Crabby Feminists
Commenting on yesterday's rant about hardliners, Frog in Northern Georgia (correctly) suggested that I'm an equal opportunity hater. Totally true! If someone is acting like a fucking Cunty McCunterson, my blood pressure is going to rise. I guarantee it.
Hence, I am angered by the way some feminist are reacting to Obama's choice of running mate. Joe Biden is a damn solid candidate. He's fought hard for progressive issues. He's represented women far better than some elected women (cough *Kay Bailey Hutchinson, Libby Dole* cough) have bothered doing. Just because someone is a woman does not mean that she is going to advance a feminist (or even woman's) agenda.
Seriously, just read anything written by the two female conservative editors at BlogHer. They are women, and they clearly do not push for most of the things that feminists seek. And there's nothing wrong with that. Not every woman has the same views or life experiences or desires from life. Why would you assume that a woman is automatically going to agree with you just because she is a woman?
Yes, I would love to see more women in elected positions. However, I am not going to vote for them just because they have twats any more than I would refuse to vote for them because they have boobs. I want someone to represent me. Sometimes the best person for that job winds up being a man, sometimes it's a woman.
As for the idea that Obama should have picked Hillary Clinton, that is nice in theory, but in reality, a disaster. The VP has no impact on votes for the most part, and then she'd undercut him every chance she can in office. She's been a fine advocate for women, but she's also sold herself out on a lot of issues. Others have suggested Kathleen Sebelius. She's great, but her commentary after one of the Democratic primary debates showed me that she's not ready for a national gig yet. Jennifer Granholm or Janet Napolitano could have been cool, but they weren't chosen. Get over it. The point of feminism is not to pick people based on gender alone, right? Right?
I think Maria Niles is right on the money when she reminds people to keep their eyes on the prize. I know a lot of people are sick of waiting for it to be "our" turn and I don't blame them, but let's move on, and vote for the team that (from my perspective anyway) will put better policies in place for women. Go Obama-Biden!!!
Hence, I am angered by the way some feminist are reacting to Obama's choice of running mate. Joe Biden is a damn solid candidate. He's fought hard for progressive issues. He's represented women far better than some elected women (cough *Kay Bailey Hutchinson, Libby Dole* cough) have bothered doing. Just because someone is a woman does not mean that she is going to advance a feminist (or even woman's) agenda.
Seriously, just read anything written by the two female conservative editors at BlogHer. They are women, and they clearly do not push for most of the things that feminists seek. And there's nothing wrong with that. Not every woman has the same views or life experiences or desires from life. Why would you assume that a woman is automatically going to agree with you just because she is a woman?
Yes, I would love to see more women in elected positions. However, I am not going to vote for them just because they have twats any more than I would refuse to vote for them because they have boobs. I want someone to represent me. Sometimes the best person for that job winds up being a man, sometimes it's a woman.
As for the idea that Obama should have picked Hillary Clinton, that is nice in theory, but in reality, a disaster. The VP has no impact on votes for the most part, and then she'd undercut him every chance she can in office. She's been a fine advocate for women, but she's also sold herself out on a lot of issues. Others have suggested Kathleen Sebelius. She's great, but her commentary after one of the Democratic primary debates showed me that she's not ready for a national gig yet. Jennifer Granholm or Janet Napolitano could have been cool, but they weren't chosen. Get over it. The point of feminism is not to pick people based on gender alone, right? Right?
I think Maria Niles is right on the money when she reminds people to keep their eyes on the prize. I know a lot of people are sick of waiting for it to be "our" turn and I don't blame them, but let's move on, and vote for the team that (from my perspective anyway) will put better policies in place for women. Go Obama-Biden!!!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The Scary Future in My Bathroom
Yesterday I tsked tsked about the state of the United States in the twilight of the Bush administration. Not long after that, I was confronted by an even scarier situation: the state of my toilet. For as much as I dread being spied on by the FBI (and what a fucking waste of precious limited resources that will be), the possibility that my toilet is losing flushing power far more dramatically affects my daily life.
Husband and I are heavy toilet users. For the first five or so years that we resided at this apartment, our industrial-type toilet (it has no tank) dealt very effectively with the digestive abuse we hurled upon it. Then last year, I noticed a change. After I flushed and the water settled, wisps of toilet paper drifted back up from the pipe, like ghosts haunting the bowl. Even the most basic uses of the toilet required an after-flush to send the restless toilet paper souls back to their watery graves. Still, the hardier matter went away and didn't reappear.
The only slightly distressing situation changed to worrisome yesterday morning, when I made a large deposit in the toilet bank. I flushed before I even wiped, knowing that the teller could barely handle the load as it was. The water swept it down to the vault, but as I threw in my deposit slip, a chunk of my change reappeared.
"Oh shit," I appropriately swore, and flushed again. The toilet paper and poo went away and stayed that way, which was good. I'm hoping the condition of my toilet doesn't deteriorate further, but I fear for the future.
Husband and I are heavy toilet users. For the first five or so years that we resided at this apartment, our industrial-type toilet (it has no tank) dealt very effectively with the digestive abuse we hurled upon it. Then last year, I noticed a change. After I flushed and the water settled, wisps of toilet paper drifted back up from the pipe, like ghosts haunting the bowl. Even the most basic uses of the toilet required an after-flush to send the restless toilet paper souls back to their watery graves. Still, the hardier matter went away and didn't reappear.
The only slightly distressing situation changed to worrisome yesterday morning, when I made a large deposit in the toilet bank. I flushed before I even wiped, knowing that the teller could barely handle the load as it was. The water swept it down to the vault, but as I threw in my deposit slip, a chunk of my change reappeared.
"Oh shit," I appropriately swore, and flushed again. The toilet paper and poo went away and stayed that way, which was good. I'm hoping the condition of my toilet doesn't deteriorate further, but I fear for the future.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Hardliners are Assholes, No Matter Which Side of the Political Spectrum
Salon has a moving essay ("Our cupboard was bare," by Heather Ryan) about a woman with three kids who took a job as a government secretary after her divorce. Although she made a decent salary with benefits, the cost of full-time child care for three kids during the summer left no room in the budget for food. Desperate to keep her kids fed, she took them to a soup kitchen one night. Her analysis of the chronic issues facing the working poor made me cry.
That said, I've been reading some insane drivel from conservative bloggers lately about individual responsibility. They believe that hard work alone is enough for people to succeed in life, and feel that wealthier households should thus not be "punished" for their success by paying taxes that support losers like Heather Ryan's kids. Clearly, it's Ryan's fault that she had three kids and now that she can't afford it, she's got to deal with it.
On the flip side, a comment from someone who I suspect is a hardliner left-winger reminded me why I loathe zealots on either side of the spectrum. She wrote:
That said, I've been reading some insane drivel from conservative bloggers lately about individual responsibility. They believe that hard work alone is enough for people to succeed in life, and feel that wealthier households should thus not be "punished" for their success by paying taxes that support losers like Heather Ryan's kids. Clearly, it's Ryan's fault that she had three kids and now that she can't afford it, she's got to deal with it.
On the flip side, a comment from someone who I suspect is a hardliner left-winger reminded me why I loathe zealots on either side of the spectrum. She wrote:
I have no sympathy for breeders, or for brie-eaters. Go to a dairy farm and ask yourself if you'd want your own children imprisoned as milking machines. You can feed yourself and your 3 children a healthy vegan diet for about $5 per day (for all 4 of you).Wow, she makes "compassionate" conservatives like Bush look like child-huggers. I'm just blown away by how fucked up people are and how unable they are to look at people who are unlike themselves with anything but contempt. It's enough to make me want to live in a cave and never have to deal with people again.
No Birth Control for You Because It's Against My Religion
So the Bush administration really did it. Yesterday, they re-wrote Dept. of Health and Human Services (HHS) guidelines to allow people to impose their personal definitions of abortion on women seeking health care services. It's a convoluted regulatory change that basically cuts off funding to family planning clinics that tend to serve low income women. (More information at NARAL and National Partnership for Women & Families.) You know, the same population who the Bush administration also denies health care coverage for their children. The same people who are always being told to take responsibility for their lives. Also? If you are raped? You don't have the right to get emergency contraception if you want it. Have a nice life.
We have 30 days to register our thoughts on this. Planned Parenthood is asking for donations specifically to fight this insanity. You can also sign petitions at NARAL (use the link above) and MoveOn, but of course, the Bush administration will just ignore them. (Still, it doesn't hurt to go on the record as a defender of your rights.)
If people wonder why I am bummed that our move to London was canceled even though it would have meant living apart from Husband for a part of the year so I could finish my MFA, you are now reminded why. Oh, yeah, and according to a report by the New York Times, the Bush administration is also "preparing to give the F.B.I. broad new authority to investigate Americans — without any clear basis for suspicion that they are committing a crime," so you know damn well that anyone who works for reproductive justice is going to be spied on. I can't wait to use the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) to read the nice fat file they'll put together on me. Maybe you want to rethink signing that petition...
We have 30 days to register our thoughts on this. Planned Parenthood is asking for donations specifically to fight this insanity. You can also sign petitions at NARAL (use the link above) and MoveOn, but of course, the Bush administration will just ignore them. (Still, it doesn't hurt to go on the record as a defender of your rights.)
If people wonder why I am bummed that our move to London was canceled even though it would have meant living apart from Husband for a part of the year so I could finish my MFA, you are now reminded why. Oh, yeah, and according to a report by the New York Times, the Bush administration is also "preparing to give the F.B.I. broad new authority to investigate Americans — without any clear basis for suspicion that they are committing a crime," so you know damn well that anyone who works for reproductive justice is going to be spied on. I can't wait to use the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) to read the nice fat file they'll put together on me. Maybe you want to rethink signing that petition...
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
And the Lead Item in the NY Times City Room Blog Is...
What is the New York Times City Room blog looking at today on the internets? Why, it's the three subway road trip itineraries that I put together for WNYC!
Wow.
Wow.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
"Off the Beaten (Subway) Track" Hits WNYC!
Burning Question of the Day
If you could have a dishwasher or a washing machine and dryer, which would you choose?
I'm so going with the washing machine. We rarely cook, so it doesn't bother me to wash whatever dishes our microwaved meals generate (or even the frying pan when I make my daily eggs). It's a pain in the ass when we have larger group meals, like at Thanksgiving, but that's only a few times a year. I've never lived anywhere with a dishwasher, so I don't miss it.
On the other hand, I would kill for a washer and dryer. (And the person I'd kill gladly is the one who was in the laundry room of my building using every fucking machine the building owns.) Generally, I don't mind schlepping my clothes to the basement, but it's pretty damn expensive for a wash and dry. It would not be expensive to get my own machine, as the building shares the cost of water. Meaning: I'm already paying for the water that everyone else who has a machine uses, including the person whose machine empties soapy water into my kitchen sink every fucking morning. (Or at least I think it smells like laundry detergent that bubbles up; it could be dishwasher soap, but I'm not sure what that smells like, as I've never had a dishwasher.) Sure, I'd pay for the electricity to run the appliances, but it would so be worth it. Maybe some day.
Anyway, I'm curious what The People prefer, i.e. "What Would CUSS Readers Do? (WWCRD)."
I'm so going with the washing machine. We rarely cook, so it doesn't bother me to wash whatever dishes our microwaved meals generate (or even the frying pan when I make my daily eggs). It's a pain in the ass when we have larger group meals, like at Thanksgiving, but that's only a few times a year. I've never lived anywhere with a dishwasher, so I don't miss it.
On the other hand, I would kill for a washer and dryer. (And the person I'd kill gladly is the one who was in the laundry room of my building using every fucking machine the building owns.) Generally, I don't mind schlepping my clothes to the basement, but it's pretty damn expensive for a wash and dry. It would not be expensive to get my own machine, as the building shares the cost of water. Meaning: I'm already paying for the water that everyone else who has a machine uses, including the person whose machine empties soapy water into my kitchen sink every fucking morning. (Or at least I think it smells like laundry detergent that bubbles up; it could be dishwasher soap, but I'm not sure what that smells like, as I've never had a dishwasher.) Sure, I'd pay for the electricity to run the appliances, but it would so be worth it. Maybe some day.
Anyway, I'm curious what The People prefer, i.e. "What Would CUSS Readers Do? (WWCRD)."
Monday, August 18, 2008
Beep Beep! Horn Tooting Time
I just adore this post that I wrote for BlogHer today about a crackpot new study that claims that the Pill leads women to choose the "wrong" partner. (The study involves 97 women thinking about taking the Pill, sweaty shirts, and sniffing. Sounds like a sound methodology, doesn't it?) There are days when I think I might be one of the dumbest people on earth, and then moments like know when I am so pleased with my cleverness that I sound like an egomaniac. What can I say?
As long as I am encouraging people to read things that I wrote that I consider funny, I might as well put out another plea for reviews on my book over at Amazon. If you read it and liked it, please let potential buyers know how you felt. (Even if you didn't like it, it would be helpful to know why.) Those of you who already posted something have my eternal gratitude. Those who post in the future will also have it. I don't think it takes long to post, and you can even use a fake name. How often does something that takes five minutes earn someone eternal gratitude?!?!
As long as I am encouraging people to read things that I wrote that I consider funny, I might as well put out another plea for reviews on my book over at Amazon. If you read it and liked it, please let potential buyers know how you felt. (Even if you didn't like it, it would be helpful to know why.) Those of you who already posted something have my eternal gratitude. Those who post in the future will also have it. I don't think it takes long to post, and you can even use a fake name. How often does something that takes five minutes earn someone eternal gratitude?!?!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Oh, The Things That You'll See!
Husband and I stood on the southwest corner of Broadway, waiting to cross 66th Street as we walked home from dinner. A goateed white man who appeared to be in his mid-30s walked rapidly toward the northwest corner. Normally, I would not notice such an individual. However, he had a black and white cat on a leash. Sitting on his head.
The light changed, and Husband and I crossed the street, getting closer to the cat head man. Suddenly, he broke into a run, tailing a woman wearing headphones while yelling something neither Husband and I could hear.
"Weird," we agreed simultaneously.
Not 20 seconds later as we continued to walk north up Broadway, a woman passed on my left. In her hands she carried a shoe box. The lid was askew so that thesduck she was transporting could stick its head out.
We shook our heads with amazement. "That's why I love living in Manhattan," I remarked. "You just never know what you'll see."
The light changed, and Husband and I crossed the street, getting closer to the cat head man. Suddenly, he broke into a run, tailing a woman wearing headphones while yelling something neither Husband and I could hear.
"Weird," we agreed simultaneously.
Not 20 seconds later as we continued to walk north up Broadway, a woman passed on my left. In her hands she carried a shoe box. The lid was askew so that the
We shook our heads with amazement. "That's why I love living in Manhattan," I remarked. "You just never know what you'll see."
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Tornado Warning
One TV silently playing overhead while I ran at the gym on Friday evening announced in big red letters on the screen "MANHATTAN TORNADO WARNING" and depicted dark clouds hovering over Central Park. On one hand, this is nothing new: as Denise has written much about since she moved into the community in which I grew up, tornado warnings happen. On the other hand, Manhattan has a fuckload of tall buildings. Once when I was a wee lass, the tornado siren went off while I was giving a summer book report at the special booth in the library. We dashed for the basement. Manhattan has neither tornado sirens nor basements. OK, it has buildings with basements, but it seems less appealing to go down to the basement in a skyscraper. I don't know why, but I suspect it has to do with my fear of being buried alive if 50 stories collapsed on top on it.
The weather was clearly reflecting the storms raging in my mind. (Maybe I am replacing Storm from X-Men.) Right before I departed for the gym, I read an article forwarded by Pam about three women in Britain who do their best to live as though it were still the 1930s, 1940s, or 1950s because they believe the eras were "a time when life was simpler" (1940s), "a much more moral time and there was a real camaraderie between people" (1930s), and "the reality of the world today, with all the violence, greed and materialism" (1950s). I don't care if they want to live very domestic lives. If that makes them happy, awesome for them. (I wish I could find my niche in life!) What put me into an internal funnel cloud was the literal whitewashing of what life was like for most people in those eras. Sure, life was simpler if you were white, Christian, middle-class and above, and content with strict gender roles. For anyone who did not fall into all of those categories, life may have been simpler due to lack of options, but it certainly was not better. And it was more moral was racism was considered acceptable? Maybe we haven't fixed our problems, but I certainly am glad I don't live in a time when public anti-Semetism was cool. Yeesh.
Anyway, another TV in the gym temporarily distracted me from my intellectual tornado of rants and worries when I noticed that Thelma and Louise was on. Damn, that is one excellent film. It came out in 1991, and pretty much nothing else has portrayed women gaining strength and finding themselves as powerfully since then. It makes me nostalgic for the early '90s. Things were so much more feminist then. I'm going to just wear torn jeans and flannel and pretend it's still those times... Ha ha,
The weather was clearly reflecting the storms raging in my mind. (Maybe I am replacing Storm from X-Men.) Right before I departed for the gym, I read an article forwarded by Pam about three women in Britain who do their best to live as though it were still the 1930s, 1940s, or 1950s because they believe the eras were "a time when life was simpler" (1940s), "a much more moral time and there was a real camaraderie between people" (1930s), and "the reality of the world today, with all the violence, greed and materialism" (1950s). I don't care if they want to live very domestic lives. If that makes them happy, awesome for them. (I wish I could find my niche in life!) What put me into an internal funnel cloud was the literal whitewashing of what life was like for most people in those eras. Sure, life was simpler if you were white, Christian, middle-class and above, and content with strict gender roles. For anyone who did not fall into all of those categories, life may have been simpler due to lack of options, but it certainly was not better. And it was more moral was racism was considered acceptable? Maybe we haven't fixed our problems, but I certainly am glad I don't live in a time when public anti-Semetism was cool. Yeesh.
Anyway, another TV in the gym temporarily distracted me from my intellectual tornado of rants and worries when I noticed that Thelma and Louise was on. Damn, that is one excellent film. It came out in 1991, and pretty much nothing else has portrayed women gaining strength and finding themselves as powerfully since then. It makes me nostalgic for the early '90s. Things were so much more feminist then. I'm going to just wear torn jeans and flannel and pretend it's still those times... Ha ha,
Friday, August 15, 2008
Guest Blogging at NYU
I'm pleased to announce that I was invited to guest post today at the NYU Arts and Science Blog! I used the opportunity to suggest a few small museums near NYU's Washington Square campus, and proposed a short "subway road trip" that is easy to embark upon from the NYU area.
While I have not been active with the alumni association at my school at NYU for a variety of reasons, I really do owe my current life situation to the university. I moved out to New York City almost 14 years ago (August 28, to be precise) to attend college there. Taking advantage of all my AP test scores, I graduated in three years, which was more than enough time for me. In those three years, I went through several dorming "situations" that made me relieved to be finished.
But in that same time period, I met Husband, "Big Giraffe" (who 6 years later became my high school friend Alex's husband), Steph, Dianne, Dr. P, Dr. H, and Dr. F, among other friends, at NYU. Through the Dean's Circle program, I was able to travel abroad for the first time, awakening my thirst for travel. And, of course, I began my love affair with New York. Although I initially planned to go back to Chicago after I finished school, I realized that I belonged in New York.
Eleven years later, I hope that love comes through in Off the Beaten (Subway) Track. I owe it all to NYU.
While I have not been active with the alumni association at my school at NYU for a variety of reasons, I really do owe my current life situation to the university. I moved out to New York City almost 14 years ago (August 28, to be precise) to attend college there. Taking advantage of all my AP test scores, I graduated in three years, which was more than enough time for me. In those three years, I went through several dorming "situations" that made me relieved to be finished.
But in that same time period, I met Husband, "Big Giraffe" (who 6 years later became my high school friend Alex's husband), Steph, Dianne, Dr. P, Dr. H, and Dr. F, among other friends, at NYU. Through the Dean's Circle program, I was able to travel abroad for the first time, awakening my thirst for travel. And, of course, I began my love affair with New York. Although I initially planned to go back to Chicago after I finished school, I realized that I belonged in New York.
Eleven years later, I hope that love comes through in Off the Beaten (Subway) Track. I owe it all to NYU.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I'm Flipping Pissed
I don't know if anyone else is up watching women's (or really, girls', but that's beside the point) gymnastics, but the judges are fucking the Americans but good. It's almost offensive at this point. Shawn Johnson performs a near perfect routine on the balance bean, yet winds up with a similar score to a Chinese gymnast who did three balance checks. Nastia Luiken performs a perfect vault, then an almost flawless set on the uneven bars, and she gets tons of points deducted. Needless to say, a Chinese athlete who took the same big step on her landing on the uneven bars as Nastia did got almost no points taken from her. BULLSHIT.
While our gymnasts contort their little bodies all over the place, I will do my own flip for the judges. Then they can kiss my flabby ass. It's just wrong, wrong, wrong.
Update: OK, the judges snapped to it, and gave Nastia the score she actually earned. She also got a great floor score, and won the gold, which is cool. Shawn Johnson was sort of cheated out of the gold, but she also finally got her due during the floor exercises, and so she got the silver instead of bronze, which is good.
While our gymnasts contort their little bodies all over the place, I will do my own flip for the judges. Then they can kiss my flabby ass. It's just wrong, wrong, wrong.
Update: OK, the judges snapped to it, and gave Nastia the score she actually earned. She also got a great floor score, and won the gold, which is cool. Shawn Johnson was sort of cheated out of the gold, but she also finally got her due during the floor exercises, and so she got the silver instead of bronze, which is good.
Redecorating at the Ranch
The clutter at Chateau Husband-Reisman is more scattered than ever. On Monday, Husband sent me an email suggesting that we host a Deep Dish for Democracy party for Obama's historic speech at the Democratic Convention. First launched as a fundraiser for Kerry in the 2004 election, Deep Dish for Democracy is so named because Husband will whip up his delectable deep dish pizzas.This, of course, led to the mess in the living room because Husband insisted a new flat panel TV is imperative to the event's success. (Our current TV was purchased in 2000 so that Husband could assemble a group of people to watch the Mets defeat the Yankees in the World Series. This did not end well.) The new TV thus requires a non-obtrusive TV stand. I figured that we would look around this weekend and pick something up. Instead, Husband came home from work last night with a new TV, which is currently taking up an enormous amount of space in the dining room.
Still, being naive, I left the apartment yesterday evening for a meeting and assumed that it would be in one piece when I returned. When I arrived home to find him removing objects d'arte (at least that's what I consider them), I was again confused. Husband cheerfully informed me that a new TV stand would be arriving tomorrow, and I should consider what new "literature storage system" (i.e. - bookcase) I would like. As of this writing, I think we'll be bookcase shopping this weekend, but clearly I have proved to be an idiot when it comes to these matters, so my guess is that some sort of furniture will make it here on Friday.
The clutter, however, will probably be here until next year.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Aging
In order to keep my supply of asthma drugs current, I visited my allergist this morning. After sticking various lighted instruments in my ears and nose, he gave me a test for my lungs, which I nicknamed "Old Betsy" as I typed this. I took a deep breath, then blew into some plastic pipe-thingy. As I panted into the machine, Old Betsy's air capacity was measured.
"Looks very nice," the doctor said as he looked at the graph of results.
"Um," I said and pointed to a line under the graph. "Does this mean what I think it does?"
"Yes, the age of your lungs is 39," he replied nonchalantly.
"Yeah, but I'm only 32!"
He shrugged. "Don't be so glum. It's not a big deal."
If it's true that you are only as old as you feel, than I am about 77, in which case, my lungs are significantly younger than the rest of me. But if it's true that you are only as old as you act, my lungs are years ahead of my kindergarten mentality. (I was fascinated and enormously pleased by the glow-in-the-dark hands of my watch as I reached out in the dim lobby of my building to unlock the door to my apartment.) From a chronological perspective, I'm concerned that my lungs are seven years ahead of the rest of me, although god knows how "old" some of my other semi-functional organs are. I sort of need them. Maybe I can age up the rest of my body by obsessively worrying about my elder lungs.
And now that I know that my lungs are entering middle age next year, I bet that I will be psyched out when engaging in cardio activities. Like, "Oh, I better slow down running or else my old lungs might fall out since they can't keep up with my youthful legs." Yes, it's ridiculous, but I can't help it. I so wish I didn't notice that little line. Bah.
"Looks very nice," the doctor said as he looked at the graph of results.
"Um," I said and pointed to a line under the graph. "Does this mean what I think it does?"
"Yes, the age of your lungs is 39," he replied nonchalantly.
"Yeah, but I'm only 32!"
He shrugged. "Don't be so glum. It's not a big deal."
If it's true that you are only as old as you feel, than I am about 77, in which case, my lungs are significantly younger than the rest of me. But if it's true that you are only as old as you act, my lungs are years ahead of my kindergarten mentality. (I was fascinated and enormously pleased by the glow-in-the-dark hands of my watch as I reached out in the dim lobby of my building to unlock the door to my apartment.) From a chronological perspective, I'm concerned that my lungs are seven years ahead of the rest of me, although god knows how "old" some of my other semi-functional organs are. I sort of need them. Maybe I can age up the rest of my body by obsessively worrying about my elder lungs.
And now that I know that my lungs are entering middle age next year, I bet that I will be psyched out when engaging in cardio activities. Like, "Oh, I better slow down running or else my old lungs might fall out since they can't keep up with my youthful legs." Yes, it's ridiculous, but I can't help it. I so wish I didn't notice that little line. Bah.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
On the Radio
Thanks to a friend, a producer from WNYC, the NPR affiliate in New York, contacted me about doing a taped segment for Weekend Edition Saturday! I met him today on the L train, and we talked about the many cool things that there are to do in New York in August. As soon as it airs, I'll link to the podcast. I'm pretty much jumping up and down and squealing as I type this, but I promise I was (slightly) more articulate when we rode the train with a camp group from Williamsburg. It was fun! I hope I get more opportunities like this.
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Fisher Poet's Wisdom
Instead of producing work for my consulting contract, I spent my day thus far: researching Sen. Evan Bayh's voting record on abortion (mostly pro-choice, but voted for that stupid "partial birth abortion ban," which bans a procedure that does not exist and instead endangers the lives of pregnant women who need a late term abortion to save their own lives); answering and generating email; pondering why the fuck I listened to that stupid doctor and agreed to get another MMR vaccine (rather than have my blood drawn and examined for anti-bodies) when I knew damn well that it is a two round deal and one would not suffice and now have to go back and get another one in September unless I can prove that I was vaccinated 32 years ago; exploring how to extract my medical records from previous institutions of learning (NYU said no way; Columbia has a form to fill out and will send my immunization documents to New School - yay!) so that I don't have to get another useless vaccine; attempting to pay my tuition at New School, which is harder than it sounds since they have yet to bill me; and writing a post for BlogHer on whether penises are heat seeking missiles which explains why people think men are unable to not cheat on their partners (answer: no). In addition to this important work, I read some blogs.
On The Cowboy Chronicles, Shonda mentions that fishing is an important part of her hubby's country life. She shared this brilliant bons mots:
On The Cowboy Chronicles, Shonda mentions that fishing is an important part of her hubby's country life. She shared this brilliant bons mots:
To quote one of these angling poets, "I told my son noodling is just like dating. If you stick your hand in a dark hole, it might come out smelling a little fishy."Once I stopped guffawing, I thought it was a good reminder that no matter how little I want to think about the longevity of charter school facilities, I could be doing far less appetizing tasks. No more dilly-dallying.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The Party's Over!
The release party for my first book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track, was yesterday. I loved having people from various parts of my life at the event. There were friends from junior high, friends from high school, friends from college, friends from my public policy grad program, friends from my book club, friends from various former jobs, friends from my writing group, friends from the writing class I took this summer, friends of friends, family, and family of friends. (Whew!) I missed my friends from blogging who live around the country and could not make it. If only I could have set up a virtual book party, that would've rocked!
The party was a lot like a wedding: I didn't get to eat anything (for the most part), I didn't get to talk to everyone, and it was over in what felt like five minutes. I had a great time, and I think that everyone else did, too. I posted some pictures from the party at my flickr account. Now, the real work begins: promoting the book!
My mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and bubbe came in for the party earlier last week. (Very regretfully, Granny didn't feel well enough to travel. Her presence was enormously missed.) Overall, it was an overwhelming and exhausting week of fun. My family departed this afternoon, which is always hard for me. I don't get to see them enough, especially my sister. I was a bit blue this afternoon now that it is all over. It's always for me after an event that I've looked forward to for a long time passes. I'll just have to keep extra busy this week.
The party was a lot like a wedding: I didn't get to eat anything (for the most part), I didn't get to talk to everyone, and it was over in what felt like five minutes. I had a great time, and I think that everyone else did, too. I posted some pictures from the party at my flickr account. Now, the real work begins: promoting the book!
My mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and bubbe came in for the party earlier last week. (Very regretfully, Granny didn't feel well enough to travel. Her presence was enormously missed.) Overall, it was an overwhelming and exhausting week of fun. My family departed this afternoon, which is always hard for me. I don't get to see them enough, especially my sister. I was a bit blue this afternoon now that it is all over. It's always for me after an event that I've looked forward to for a long time passes. I'll just have to keep extra busy this week.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Book Party and Belated Birthday Wishes
Today's my book party! Other than the fact that I look like a bloated version of the villainess from Superman II, I'm excited. Fun shall be had.
Also, I want to wish my cousin Rebecca a happy belated 21st birthday! The big day was last Saturday. I'll never forget the day she was born. Our family friends were visiting us (the Reisman clan) from Florida, and we were just getting ready to go out for the day when the phone rang. I was already outside, waiting in the driveway, and when I heard the news, I ran around the lawn like the lunatic I am. I was so excited to finally have a cousin! Anyway, Rebecca's been living it up in Dublin all summer, so I'm looking forward to seeing her in a few weeks when she returns to the states.
My family is here until tomorrow (which explains my blog absence for the last few days). In the meantime, I encourage everyone to submit a period story to Congratulations, You're a Woman Now! so that I have lots of good reading materials for when they depart.
Also, I want to wish my cousin Rebecca a happy belated 21st birthday! The big day was last Saturday. I'll never forget the day she was born. Our family friends were visiting us (the Reisman clan) from Florida, and we were just getting ready to go out for the day when the phone rang. I was already outside, waiting in the driveway, and when I heard the news, I ran around the lawn like the lunatic I am. I was so excited to finally have a cousin! Anyway, Rebecca's been living it up in Dublin all summer, so I'm looking forward to seeing her in a few weeks when she returns to the states.
My family is here until tomorrow (which explains my blog absence for the last few days). In the meantime, I encourage everyone to submit a period story to Congratulations, You're a Woman Now! so that I have lots of good reading materials for when they depart.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Submit Early, Submit Often: Congratulations, You're a Woman Now! Anthology Wants Your Stories!
Earlier this year (or maybe even at the end of last year), I read the most hilarious blog post ever from Jessica (no link 'cause she made her blog private since then, sorry) about how she began menstruating at a young age and nearly missed out on a big gymnastic competition because she didn't know how to use a tampon, but then the hippie neighbors down the street helped her learn how by employing the mortifying technique of live demonstration. The whole thing made me want to read more stories about what happened when women first got their periods, learned how to put in a tampon, bought pads, etc. I was sad that, although there are whole collections of essays on women's funniest romantic catastrophes, women of all ages have no book to turn to when they want to laugh, cry, or nod in empathy when it comes to this rite of passage we generally share.
Then the little hamster who powers my brain woke up from his long nap, stretched, and ran really fast on the wheel. Gears turned, lights flashed, and I realized that I could help put that book together. I posted an inquiry about it at CUSS, and people seemed into the idea. My buddy Alex even agree to be a co-editor. She commissioned an awesome logo, got her tech guy to put a website together, and Congratulations, You're a Woman Now! was born. (Or should I say we got our collective first period?)
So what are you waiting for? Time is running short. The deadline to submit your thoughtful, hilarious, educational, moving, and/or horrifying essay about what happened when Aunt Flo came to visit is September 1. Yeah, that's less than four weeks away. Or something. (My shitty homemade datebook only goes through August 14 right now.) Details are to be found at Congratulations, You're a Woman Now!, so check it out.
We already have one rocking essay, and it will look really lonely if it is not joined by yours...
Goodbye, Marylebone Road...
For a variety of reasons, the London move is 99.9% dead. I am bummed. My visions of life in London were rather exciting. Husband and I spent hours scouring the internet looking at neighborhoods, and we loved Marylebone. I pictured the delicious candy bars I would consume every day. Unlike in the US, the community development field is growing in London. (I think.) Plus, I could use the time to write Off the Beaten (Tube) Track. How much fun that would be!
At the same time, it certainly makes life easier. I won't have to live apart from Husband at all in 2009, which is very good. Not eating delicious candy bars every day is much better for my health. Finding employment in New York when I plan to live here year round will be easier than when I planned to spend my winter and summer breaks in London. Another big plus is that we won't go broke.
Still, dreams die hard. I'm hoping that Husband will get another opportunity to work in London in the near future. Until then, Elton John's lament plays in my head. Oooooh ooooh oooooh...
At the same time, it certainly makes life easier. I won't have to live apart from Husband at all in 2009, which is very good. Not eating delicious candy bars every day is much better for my health. Finding employment in New York when I plan to live here year round will be easier than when I planned to spend my winter and summer breaks in London. Another big plus is that we won't go broke.
Still, dreams die hard. I'm hoping that Husband will get another opportunity to work in London in the near future. Until then, Elton John's lament plays in my head. Oooooh ooooh oooooh...
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The Audacity of Hope
Feeling partiotic this morning, I donned my "Bush is a Tush" t-shirt. As I sauntered up Amsterdam Avenue on my way to Barnes & Noble (they finally have Off the Beaten (Subway) Track in stock!), I noticed two guys engaging in the latest New York City annoyance: sidewalk fundraising. The sidewalk fundraisers wander around with a clipboard, approaching people and asking them things like, "Do you care about the environment?" or "Do you support gay rights?" If you are foolish enough answer yes, they then attempt to get you to give them money for the cause. I can't imagine that this works, but it must because the only sidewalk fundraisers I used to encounter were for Greenpeace, but now I see people from the DNC and Human Rights Camapign all the time.
Today's sidewalk fundraisers had t-shirts on for some progressive group whose name I can't remember. I figured that my "Bush is a Tush" t-shirt made me a big target. Silly me. I assumed that people would read my chest.
"Do you want to defeat John McCain in November?" the bearded sidewalk fundraiser asked me.
"Do I look like the type of person who supports John McCain?" I asked with disdain, pulling my t-shirt away from my body a bit so he could read it without feeling like a pervert.
"Bush.... is... a... tush," he read aloud, sloooooowly. Then he frowned. "So do you support John McCain?"
"Damn, we might really lose this election," I thought. "Good thing we are moving to London!" Not long after that, I called Husband at work. He sounded glum.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"London might be off the table," he grumbled.
At that moment, a pigeon flew into my head. (I am OK, albeit repulsed, as my hair now is infested with rank pigeon germs. Those things are flying sewer rats.) Could the signs be more ominous? I am very displeased.
Today's sidewalk fundraisers had t-shirts on for some progressive group whose name I can't remember. I figured that my "Bush is a Tush" t-shirt made me a big target. Silly me. I assumed that people would read my chest.
"Do you want to defeat John McCain in November?" the bearded sidewalk fundraiser asked me.
"Do I look like the type of person who supports John McCain?" I asked with disdain, pulling my t-shirt away from my body a bit so he could read it without feeling like a pervert.
"Bush.... is... a... tush," he read aloud, sloooooowly. Then he frowned. "So do you support John McCain?"
"Damn, we might really lose this election," I thought. "Good thing we are moving to London!" Not long after that, I called Husband at work. He sounded glum.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"London might be off the table," he grumbled.
At that moment, a pigeon flew into my head. (I am OK, albeit repulsed, as my hair now is infested with rank pigeon germs. Those things are flying sewer rats.) Could the signs be more ominous? I am very displeased.
Like Mother, Like Daughter
Yesterday I emailed a reminder about my book party on Saturday. This morning I received the following response from my mother:
I querried her as to whether that included interior decorating. Stay tuned.
I'm sorry, but we can't make it. We have better ways to spend our time.
I querried her as to whether that included interior decorating. Stay tuned.
Monday, August 4, 2008
A Piece of Free Advice
Chasing half of a can of Reddi Whip down with a slice of colby jack cheese is not a pleasing combination for the stomach. Drinking raspberry diet Snapple iced tea is only going to make it worse. As delicious and tempting as this "meal" sounds, trust me on this.
As the Summer Ends, My Stature Declines
For an excellent account of the varied activities we shared at the house that Husband rented in the Catskills, I recommend Alex's recap.
Now that I am home, I am gearing up for a busy next few weeks. The book party is this weekend, and my family will be in town. I need to find ways to get media attention for the book, too. A consulting contract that was four weeks in the making is finally ready. Orientation for school is at the end of the month.
In preparation for school, I needed to provide evidence that I was vaccinated against measles, mumps, and rubella (MMR). Needless to say, this took place about 32 years ago, so my records aren't exactly at the top of the heap at my former pediatrician's office. Although my mom put in a good effort to secure them, I also made an appointment for a physical, just in case. When I called to set it up, I learned that I have not had a regular old check up in four years. In that time, however, I've managed multiple visits with a GI, an allergist, a dermatologist, three different breast surgeons, and three different gynecologists. My parts are well attended to.
My appointment rolled around this morning, and the nurse asked me how tall I am. "I don't know," I responded. "Maybe five two?" She thought she should measure me. To my surprise, I remain five feet and one-half of an inch. I swore I had a growth spurt at my last physical, so either I am shrinking or I was improperly measured back then. Either way, I am pleased that my status as a short person is back. When I thought I was 5'2", I had to use the disclaimer that I am a tall short person. So hurray for that!
Now that I am home, I am gearing up for a busy next few weeks. The book party is this weekend, and my family will be in town. I need to find ways to get media attention for the book, too. A consulting contract that was four weeks in the making is finally ready. Orientation for school is at the end of the month.
In preparation for school, I needed to provide evidence that I was vaccinated against measles, mumps, and rubella (MMR). Needless to say, this took place about 32 years ago, so my records aren't exactly at the top of the heap at my former pediatrician's office. Although my mom put in a good effort to secure them, I also made an appointment for a physical, just in case. When I called to set it up, I learned that I have not had a regular old check up in four years. In that time, however, I've managed multiple visits with a GI, an allergist, a dermatologist, three different breast surgeons, and three different gynecologists. My parts are well attended to.
My appointment rolled around this morning, and the nurse asked me how tall I am. "I don't know," I responded. "Maybe five two?" She thought she should measure me. To my surprise, I remain five feet and one-half of an inch. I swore I had a growth spurt at my last physical, so either I am shrinking or I was improperly measured back then. Either way, I am pleased that my status as a short person is back. When I thought I was 5'2", I had to use the disclaimer that I am a tall short person. So hurray for that!
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Oh, To Be 16 Again!
Here I am, 32 years old and married, living out the dreams I had a half-life ago. At 16, I worked at a small Jungian publishing company, and often sent books to a store at the King of Prussia Mall in Pennsylvania. Giant malls appealed to my teen self, and I hoped to visit this mecca of shopping some day. On Saturday, January 26, Husband and Steph made my dream a reality. The mall was every bit as mall-rific as I'd hoped.
Last week saw another teen dream come to pass for me. On our way home from the house Husband rented in the Catskills, we stopped in Woodstock. Ever since I painted hippie logos - a white dove, hearts, and peace signs - on the yellow plastic trash can in my childhood bedroom, I longed for the day I could commune with my like-minded (albeit drug using) fellow '60s leftovers. Little did I know that my future in Woodstock would involve paying $7 for a peach smoothie in which vanilla soy milk was substituted for peach nectar because the hippie cafe ran out of the pivotal ingredient for a peach smoothie (they also ran out of bananas, which are in every other smoothie on their menu), but I needed to pee and thus was willing to fork out for access to a clean toilet. Seriously, almost every store in the town was outrageously expensive (except for the tie-dyed t-shirts), which is about par for the course for the biggest sell-out generation in America overall. (Which is not to say that everyone is a sell out, but if I see one more AmeriTrade commercial cashing in on boomer nostalgia - congratulating folks for rock 'n' roll and their current interest in their own financial security, I may punch my TV screen.)
Anyway, Husband took this picture of me in Woodstock:
I like the sentiment of the sign a lot. The brown bag I have in my armpit contains a book I saw in the window of the Woodstock Quiltsupply shop, and felt compelled to purchase: Dirty Wow Wow and Other Love Stories: A tribute to the threadbare companions of childhood." The book (and the quilt store, which was very cute) puts the warm fuzzies back into my thoughts about Woodstock, idealism, and youth.
Last week saw another teen dream come to pass for me. On our way home from the house Husband rented in the Catskills, we stopped in Woodstock. Ever since I painted hippie logos - a white dove, hearts, and peace signs - on the yellow plastic trash can in my childhood bedroom, I longed for the day I could commune with my like-minded (albeit drug using) fellow '60s leftovers. Little did I know that my future in Woodstock would involve paying $7 for a peach smoothie in which vanilla soy milk was substituted for peach nectar because the hippie cafe ran out of the pivotal ingredient for a peach smoothie (they also ran out of bananas, which are in every other smoothie on their menu), but I needed to pee and thus was willing to fork out for access to a clean toilet. Seriously, almost every store in the town was outrageously expensive (except for the tie-dyed t-shirts), which is about par for the course for the biggest sell-out generation in America overall. (Which is not to say that everyone is a sell out, but if I see one more AmeriTrade commercial cashing in on boomer nostalgia - congratulating folks for rock 'n' roll and their current interest in their own financial security, I may punch my TV screen.)
Anyway, Husband took this picture of me in Woodstock:
I like the sentiment of the sign a lot. The brown bag I have in my armpit contains a book I saw in the window of the Woodstock Quiltsupply shop, and felt compelled to purchase: Dirty Wow Wow and Other Love Stories: A tribute to the threadbare companions of childhood." The book (and the quilt store, which was very cute) puts the warm fuzzies back into my thoughts about Woodstock, idealism, and youth.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
My Furry Beaver Gets Around: BlogHer Beaver Shots Now Online!
No less than a 100% rip off of Suebob's popular red stapler series, I decided to bring my furry little beaver to the 2008 BlogHer conference and have her pose with my blogging friends. Brilliant! Except that I forgot my camera. Fortunately, Alex lent me hers, so I wandered around the conference on Friday, asking people to take a beaver shot. Then I forgot to upload the pictures from Alex's camera. Until Thursday night...
Without further ado, I present: My Beaver at BlogHer 08. Feel free to tag yourself if you have a beaver shot. (I figure some people may not want to be identified for web search purposes, so I leave it up to the individual in the photo to tag herself. Please do not tag any beaver shot unless you are in it. It's pretty bad when a prospective employer googles someone and comes up with a link to her beaver shot...)
Someone (Mar, I think) suggested that Bev the Beaver do a tour, which I think would be fun. People who want to be in a picture with my beaver would email me (or leave a comment), I'd generate a list with people's addresses, then send Bev and the list to the first person on the list. That person would take a picture with my beaver and post it, then send Bev to the next person on the list and so forth, until Bev is sent home to me. Anyone interested?
Without further ado, I present: My Beaver at BlogHer 08. Feel free to tag yourself if you have a beaver shot. (I figure some people may not want to be identified for web search purposes, so I leave it up to the individual in the photo to tag herself. Please do not tag any beaver shot unless you are in it. It's pretty bad when a prospective employer googles someone and comes up with a link to her beaver shot...)
Someone (Mar, I think) suggested that Bev the Beaver do a tour, which I think would be fun. People who want to be in a picture with my beaver would email me (or leave a comment), I'd generate a list with people's addresses, then send Bev and the list to the first person on the list. That person would take a picture with my beaver and post it, then send Bev to the next person on the list and so forth, until Bev is sent home to me. Anyone interested?
Friday, August 1, 2008
I Love the Nightlife
I also love to boogie, but that is another story. This post is about how wild the nightlife is in the Catskills. In the past week, I saw:
Further, I encountered more spiders and moths than I've seen in the previous two years combined. Add in the beetles, crickets, and UFIs (unidentified flying insects), and it was a total free for all. While it was all exciting, I'm very relieved to again be in the tame confines of my New York City apartment this evening.
- wild turkey
- deer
- gopher
- opossum
- skunk
- hawk (or possibly falcon)
- rabbit (although I saw more of those critters when I visited my parents earlier in July in the 'burbs of Chicago)
- toad
- frog
- what I think were red lizards of some sort, crushed on the road
Further, I encountered more spiders and moths than I've seen in the previous two years combined. Add in the beetles, crickets, and UFIs (unidentified flying insects), and it was a total free for all. While it was all exciting, I'm very relieved to again be in the tame confines of my New York City apartment this evening.
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