Firsts

Firsts in 2010:

First kiss: Steph laid a wet one on my cheek.

First song I sang: "Don't Stop Believin'"

First thing Husband did to piss me off: Skipped the songs I programmed
into the karaoke machine.

See? New year, but nothing new.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Good Riddance

Usually I am not too keen about New Year's Eve. In recent years, I
realized there is no reason to be giddy. The stroke of midnight does
not really change anything. Tomorrow will just be the same old shit.

After I wrote a post for BlogHer on feminism and gender in the aughts,
it struck me how exceptionally crappy the past decade was for women.
I don't expect things to miraculously improve soon, but I'm relieved
to leave those bad old days behind.

Onward.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Ground Rules

Some time ago, I mentioned that when I was bored at a staff meeting in ye olden days, I decided to figure out which letter I would pick if I was forced to eat foods that only began with one letter for the rest of my life. After listing foods under each letter of the alphabet, I determined that C was the best option for me. Two main reasons: cheese and chocolate. Two secondary reasons: cookies and cake. S was a close second.

The problem with my system was that the rules were too loose. If someone picked S, would seafood count? How about sauteed mushrooms? Very tricky.

I gave this more thought this weekend when I said that if I could only eat one food for the rest of my life, it would be bureks. My friend's husband pointed out that bureks don't start with a C. Although I could have pointed out that this is a different challenge, I said I could eat cheese bureks, which are the best kind anyway.

This morning on the subway I refine the criteria to avoid cheating. The way it works is that if someone asks you what you are eating, and the answer makes sense, then it counts. For example, if someone chose F as her food, then went into a restaurant that had a fish special, she could order it if there was just one fish dish. It won't matter if it's salmon, cod, or trout. Her companion would say, "Hey, what are you getting?" and she'd say, "The fish." But no one goes into a restaurant and orders seafood. (Well, unless it is a seafood platter, so there's even wiggle room there.) If the category is too broad, it doesn't count. Specific brand names are OK, though. So I chose M and ate a Mars Bar, that would be OK, even if generically speaking it is a candy bar. (Which brings me back to why C is still the best option.)

Those are my rules, and I'm sticking to them!

Birthday Fiver

Despite the breakfast birthday cake and burek that sat in my stomach like a lead hockey puck, I accomplished my goal and ran five miles today. It took me slightly under 55 minutes, for which I'd like to blame the birthday cake and burek, but I'm just out of shape. It felt good to run, though.

Then I did what I promised myself I would do and sat on my ass for the rest of the day. It's a shame because it was gorgeous outside, but that's how it goes. I watched many home films from the olden days (early 1976 - about 1985) on my father-in-law's film projector. I have about 10 more to go, then I'm having them transferred to DVD as a gift to my parents. What was cool was that I watched movies from my 1st, 2nd, 4th, and 5th birthdays on my 34th birthday. What was not cool was how much I miss all of the relatives in the movies who aren't able to celebrate with me today.

Now I'm planning a trip home for January to see my grandmothers. I'm really, really worried about them. Husband told me that the TSA has new stupid rules that will do nothing to prevent situations like the one on the Detroit flight that inspired them, and he now refuses to fly. (Eye roll.) But really, forbidding people from using the bathroom during the last hour of a flight or having anything in their laps for the last 30 minutes is evil. I hope that some sanity prevails soon.

Whatever the case, my 33rd year pretty much sucked overall, so here's hoping that 34 brings better times. And thanks to everyone on Facebook for the awesome birthday wishes!!!

Mele Kalikimaka!

My friend from school invited Husband and I to Christmas Eve dinner last night. The food was excellent and company was fascinating. One guy belongs to a raw milk collective in NYC that contracts with an Amish farm in Pennsylvania to deliver raw milk and products to them. He said raw milk cottage cheese is unbelievable. He also said that donuts in Ireland are amazing. Interesting!

I've been fortunate enough to have some great Christmas Eves over the last few years. Husband and I were in southern California last year (although the temperature was freakishly low - in the 40s!). Actually, we were in New York on Xmas Eve - we left for California on the 25th. Two years ago (2007), we ate at a Denny's on the big island of Hawaii (hence the title, which is Merry Christmas in Hawaiian). That was an awesome trip. The year before that, we watched season one of The Wire on DVD. OK, we finished watching The Wire on DVD at our apartment on Christmas Eve before we left for LA in 2008, not 2006. In 2006 I was at my parents' house. I am so senile it is scary... And, finally, four years ago, we celebrated Christmas Eve with my friend Julie and her family in the Dominican Republic (2005).

Here's hoping that everyone has a lovely Christmas.

There's Goes That

I decided in October to grow my hair a little longer. The guy who cuts my hair said that he'd cut it so it would grow back in stages. I loved it. I actually decided to keep it medium short, and went in for a trim this morning.

"Hey, I just want a little trim," I told my stylist.

"Sure," he said. Then he went outside to check out the traffic situation because there was a lot of honking. A few minutes later, he ran out to move his car before it got a ticket.

With all that disruption, he seemed to forget what I wanted because I am sitting here at my keyboard 90 minutes later with really short hair, depressed and wanting a paper bag to put over my head because not only is it shorter than I wanted, but it also is not that great. There are worse things in the world, but it's really frustrating to think that I'm right back to where I was two months ago, except worse because he didn't even cut it in a way that will grow back nicely.

My Mom's a Fruit Cake

"I've had a really hard time finding fruit cake at the store in the last few years," my mom told me on the phone last night.

"Um, that is because no one except you buys fruit cake," I explained.

She ignored me. "Fruit cake is the unfair butt of many jokes. It is delicious! Grandma likes it, too."

It takes one to know one.

End of a Decade

I'm inspired by Count Mockula, who wrote a cool post about how her life has changed in the last decade. Here's the story of my last ten years:

In 2000, I earned my Masters in Public Administration from Columbia, and I began my career in community development, working to build more child care centers to serve low income families in NYC. Also, after a two year engagement, Husband and I get married. I was 24 years old. We moved out of the 200 square foot apartment with no stove or oven that we called home for the prior three years and into a mansion - 450 square feet! Husband leaves his job at Bear Stearns, turns down a job at Cantor Fitzgerald on the 103rd floor of the World Trade Center, and enters the world of private equity.

Husband and I went on a belated honeymoon to London. Since I was convinced that I will never have the chance to go again, I insisted that we go to about 40 places a day. We came back to NYC on Sept. 9. Two days later, I stood on the corner of 5th Avenue and 12th Street and watched the World Trade Center burn. A few months later, I was hired by another nonprofit to start a new program dedicated to changing the way child care centers are developed and financed. My grandfather (my mom's dad) died.

Overall, 2002 is unexciting. Husband and I buy an apartment. It cost $385,000, and is 900 square feet, with a large bedroom, huge living room, dining room, lots of closets, and a separate kitchen. A month later, the building manager sent a memo to all tenants that claims that common charges are rising by 50%, thus rendering the apartment unaffordable for us. I sobbed. Several days later, another memo comes, apologizing for the typo - the price increase is really only 5%. I developed a digestive ailment that prevented me from digesting fat, causing me to lose a lot of weight, smell like shit, and generally look like a zombie. It went away by the end of the year for the most part, and was never diagnosed.

Tycho the giant rabbit comes to live with us in 2003. That's about all I remember about 2003 and 2004. I was pretty miserable due to the Bush administration destroying anything that was good about the US. The Cubs broke my heart. I discovered that my grandfather's brother-in-law survived the Holocaust. Husband and I traveled to meet his family in France and Israel.

In 2005, my bestest friend Steph moved to North Carolina for graduate school. New York became 500% more boring. Husband and I celebrated being together for ten years. I joined the Haven Coalition, making two wonderful new friends, Sara and Mara. CUSS & Other Rants debuted Oct. 17, 2005. My cousin moved to New York to attend college. We hung out a lot.

After nearly five years, I burned out and left my job/threw my career into the toilet in Oct. 2006. (Before I quit, though, I went to Sacramento for a training, and met Count Mockula for dinner. My dad freaked out about me getting into a car with someone I met over the internet.) I decided to spend more time writing, and paid the bills with consulting gigs (and Husband's income). My first freelance articles appeared in Metro New York. I took a crazy internship with a magazine dedicated to selling condos and expensive strollers to rich parents to get more clips. I realized that I am not cut out for magazine work. BlogHer hired me as a Contributing Editor. I attended my first BlogHer conference, meeting the excellent Suebob, who I continue to be shocked that I did not scare away forever. The Mets broke my heart.

In 2007, Husband's boss started his own company. The good news: great opportunity for Husband! The downside: He has to commute to Connecticut. He obtained a red PT Cruiser to get to work, making me one of those New Yorkers who own a car upon whom I frown. My other bestest friend, Dr. P, moves to Florida for two years for a fellowship. Yet again, New York is 500% less fun. Steph moved back to the region, though, so that was good. The Mets broke my heart. Again.

My first book comes out in 2008! I also am accepted into the MFA program at the New School to study nonfiction after a stint on the wait list. Obama wins the presidency. Who are the Mets?

This past year, I had a disastrous experience re-entering the full-time workforce early on, but then got a much better position by year end. Despite Obama's victory, I was more depressed by the political situation than ever. Dr. P moved back to New York state! My sister had a baby! My brother-in-law's wife announced that she is pregnant! Husband and I renovated our apartment and installed a washing machine and dryer!

Throughout the decade, Husband proved me wrong when it came not only to returning to London (which I went to at least five more times), but also travel in general. I visited Argentina, Italy, India, France, Switzerland, Canada, the Dominican Republic, and Israel. Husband's parents took us on a cruise through the Caribbean. In the US, I went to Hawaii, Cleveland, Memphis, San Francisco, LA, various locations in CA, Miami, Orlando, Chapel Hill, Boston, Philadelphia, various locations in upstate New York, Vermont, DC, Delaware, and of course Chicago and Iowa City.

The aughts had a lot of ups and downs, but it was certainly an interesting run. Thanks to everyone (named and unnamed) who made the ups worth so much!

Swish

If I were a cat wearing corduroy pants, no one would need to tie a bell around my neck to warn the little animals that I was coming. The swishing sound that my pants make when my thighs rub together as I walk would alert them to my presence. Meow.

No matter what I weighed or looked like, "chub rub" (a term I learned from my friend Alex Elliot) has always bothered me. I can't wear skirts without putting something (tights, shorts, whatever) between my bare flesh, otherwise my legs are red and burning within a few hours. Warm up pants are even noisier than corduroys. SWISH!

Now that I've got that out in the open, I'm off to pluck out my chin hairs. Such is life.

Blizzard!

As of this middle of the night writing, New York City is expected to get up to 14 inches of snow. Husband and I had tickets to a Michael Jackson tribute show put on by my favorite cover band production house, The Loser's Lounge. Before I left, I spoke with my family (via Skype - I feel so tech savvy, years after the fact...), and they suggested we stay in.

"Dudes, this is NYC!" I assured them. "The subway will be no problem."

This was accurate. The subway came and got us there in a timely fashion.* It was actually nice to wander around as snow came down. The sidewalks and street were quiet, devoid of traffic. The show rocked. We had tea afterward, then journeyed through the blizzard home.

Anyway, the show was one reason why I hadn't made plans to travel home this weekend. (Another reason is that my in-laws were supposed to come to our place in the afternoon and have a belated Hanukkah celebration, but that was canceled due to said blizzard. The main reason, though, is that I'm exhausted from school and work and writing and just needed to sit around and rest.) My sister and nephew are at my parents' house this weekend, and I really wanted to go. Now I'm relieved that I didn't make plans. Even if I got out last night or this morning, I can't imagine being able to get back in time for work on Monday.

All that got me thinking about the passengers who are stranded at airports around the country due to the storm. I felt bad for them. Then I read an article on CNN.com that noted that Greyhound canceled 300 routes from New England to Jacksonville, FL, stranding lots and lots of people at Greyhound bus terminals. The Red Cross has been called for assistance. Yeah, that is one of my worst nightmares.

*This will no longer be possible in the spring. Thanks to gross mismanagement of the Metropolitan Transit Authority under 12 years of Republican "leadership,"** major service cuts are to be implemented.
**Although Husband points out that if Democrats were in control, the situation would be just as bad because the state is so fucking corrupt.

On a Cold Saturday Morning

Every day I wake up and think, "What can I do today that's morally
wrong?" Usually I fail spectacularly at committing moral outrages, but
this morning, I made good on my goal.

Planned Parenthood sought extra volunteers for one of their clinics
this morning. Last week, about a dozen people showed up to harass and
intimidate people going to the clinic, so they asked for more help
just in case those guardians of morality and saviors of the pure
unborn showed up again. It's been over 10 years since I've served as
a clinic escort, so I signed up for the 8:30 - 10 shift.

It is frigid in NYC these days, but I figured I'd be fine since I have
the fires of hell to keep me toasty. Alas, despite my moral failures
(and this is how one of the protesters described it to the cops when
they pulled her aside for following people to the door), I could
barely feel my feet at the end of my shift. I guess the protesters
are made of ice, as they were there before I got there and after I
left.

What really fascinated me, though, is that these protesters used signs
that I remember from my days doing clinic defense as a junior in high
school. I always liked the way a bowl of meat lasagna was crudely
altered to resemble a tiny head, which the sign proclaimed to be a
baby. It used to make me hungry. Turns out it still does. I guess
killing babies really works up my appetite.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Copping an Attitude

When I walked into the subway at midnight, I discovered that all the turnstiles read "no entry." My writing workshop professor asked a man in the crowd assembled on the mezzanine what was going on. He shrugged. No one seemed to know how long both platforms would be closed.

A large white cop hustled back and forth, walking up the stairs to the street, then back down again. "Can you tell us what's happening?" Zia asked him. He stared at her. She asked again.

He made a face. "I can't tell you."

"Really? Not even a hint? Do you know when can we go back down?"

The cop stopped pacing. "Look lady, if you want to see two dead bodies, go right on down." He practically spat at us.

Geez, sorry for wanting to know what goes on in our city...

Career Change

I'm not changing careers for the zillionth time since 2006. However,
I realized that I should change the way that I talk about my career.

I've always been a little confused about how to describe what I do.
I've worked at and with nonprofit organizations for over ten years.
Some of that work was program development and management, some was
policy analysis, some was grant making and fundraising, and some was
advocacy. A bit of it was finance lite. No matter what, it was
always in the field of social justice.

From now on, I will proudly tell people that I work on social justice
issues. And I'm a writere. Yay.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

No Exaggeration

The intersection of 23rd and 6th Avenue is the only one I've ever passed through in Manhattan which not only has the standard "Walk/Don't Walk" lights to indicate when to cross the street, but also emits noises like a cuckoo clock. (Every intersection I encountered in downtown Oakland, Ca, on the other hand, makes noises.) This Manhattan intersection is different from the others because there is an institute for the blind on W. 23rd Street between 6th and 7th Avenues. (While I think it is great that the City made one intersection easier for blind people, I always wondered what happened if they came from the west side as opposed to east, but I digress.)

As I walked from work to school this evening, I crossed through the noise-emitting intersection. I continued south on 6th Avenue, and as I approached the doors of the Burlington Coat Factory, I nearly fell over. Leaving the shop was a blind man. He held his walking stick and emerged slowly from the store's double doors. Behind him, with her hand on his shoulder, was a blind woman, also gripping a red and white walking stick. Following her was another woman. She placed her hand on the middle woman's shoulder, and grasped a walking stick.

Wow, I thought as they turned left and made their way to the corner. It's the blind leading the blind leading the blind. You really do see everything in New York City.

The Heat is Off

Ah, foolish first impressions! I sweltered at my desk when I started
my job. My hideous office cardigan (the one that is too ugly to wear
in public, so it is no problem to leave it on my chair at work because
there is no other situation in which I would possibly want to wear it)
would go unused, I believed.

Now that I'm in my fourth week (damn, time goes by fast), I understand
better. When I noticed that the office had no air circulation, that
meant that heat doesn't travel far. All of the heat comes through the
perimeter of the space, which is where people's offices are. It
doesn't flow to the worker bees in the cubicleland. I love great
building design.

Space heaters, anyone? Perhaps I shall take up this issue with HOUR...

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Bye Bayh Repro Rights

Many of the bad things that are happening in the Senate today take me back to my earliest years in public policy. In the summer of 1995, the country was hotly debating welfare reform. I interned with the child care division of the Department of Public Aid in Illinois, and I followed the discussion closely.

By the time I returned the next summer, the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunities Reconciliation Act (PRWORA) had passed Congress and was signed into law by President Clinton. States wrangled with how they could meet the welfare for work requirements and move people off of public assistance programs as soon as possible. Next door, the governor of Indiana, Evan Bayh, embraced welfare-to-work so wholeheartedly that I was certain that he was a Republican. I'm fairly certain that I even had an argument with Husband about it. I was wrong.

These days, over thirteen years after I first cut my teeth on public policy work, Bayh is still causing me to scratch my head. Evan Bayh is now a pro-choice Democrat in the Senate. Yet he voted for the Nelson/Hatch amendment that would have essentially forbid health insurance plans to cover abortion services. On the flip side, Democratic Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid is anti-choice, but voted against the amendment. What the fuck?

Sen. Reid showed great initiative in explaining his position, finding common ground and recognizing the need for health care reform to be passed. I commend him for taking the time to do the right thing for more people than himself. Sen. Bayh offered no explanation for voting against the women that he has courted for votes. It’s baffling. OK, it's more than baffling; Sen. Bayh's lack of courage on this issue is pathetic.

I learned in 1995-1996 that I really couldn't count on Evan Bayh to make sound decisions when it comes to the health and welfare of women and children. A lot of time has passed since then. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Sigh.

Chopped Liver

At work on Friday, someone turned to one of my co-workers and said that she was the only person in the development department who was not sick. "Congratulations," he said.

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" I shouted from across the room.

He blushed. "Oh, sorry. But really, why chopped liver? Have you ever eaten it? It's delicious! I don't understand that phrase at all."

"It's true that chopped liver is good," my other co-worker cut in. "But you know how when you have a party and you put out chopped liver, chips and dip, crudites, and crackers and cheese?* At the end of the night, the only thing that is still left is the chopped liver."

Chopped liver may be fabulous, but it is still less popular than other items. There's a stigma to it. I thought that is the greatest explanation for the "What am I, chopped liver?" expression ever.

*My answer is no, I do not know any parties in which people put out chopped liver, but I guess I do not hang out with the right crowd.

On the First Night of Hanukkah Someone Threw Up on My Face

Actually, it only looks like a cat threw up a yarn hairball on my face. In reality, Husband found this crochet sleeping mask on etsy. He said it made him laugh so hard that it was worth the few bucks.

He also gave me an awesome Snoopy watch that was advertised on eBay as "for girls." What it meant was "for giants." It was even too big on him. I love it, though. I'll just buy a new band. Fortunately, he assured me that it was very cheap.

The sweater I am wearing in the picture was a Hanukkah gift from him many years ago. When he first gave it to me I hated wearing turtle necks. However, it soon became my favorite sweater. It's shrunk a bit, and I am fearful that it may not make it through this season.

Incidentally, I gave Husband a Kindle last night. At least I didn't sell my hair to buy him a watch fob only to discover that he sold his watch to buy me fancy combs. Love is all you need.

Happy Hanukkah!

The Weather

It was unseasonably warm in New York City in November. There were a
few days when I ran outside because it was in the 60s or 70s. That is
gone now.

It is unseasonably cold in New York City in December. When I venture
outside, bundled in my coat, a scarf, and scary bear hat, the wind
slaps my face red. On my way to the subway, I passed a stream of
frozen dog piss on the sidewalk (how awful would it be to slip and
fall on frozen piss...), and a few blocks later, a puddle in the
street with litter frozen in it. Ah, the holiday sights!

Everyone at work has the flu. In my department, five out of six
people are sick. They all have the flu, except half of them insist it
is just a cold with a high fever and body aches. Uh huh. Somehow,
although I am exhausted and feel run down in general and did not get a
flu shot, I am not sick at all. Hmmm...

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

The Eyes Don't Have It

Decrepitude at the age of 33 (almost 34, and yes, I got my age right this time) is not good. In the few months that I was at my previous job earlier this year, vision in my left eye declined. It turns out that staring at a computer screen for hours a day made my eyeballs and their components really angry. The left eye went on partial strike.

My left eye continued to bother me after I left my hob, even though I no longer spent all day staring at a monitor. I had to get a stronger prescription lens. This fixed the situation. I could see! Hurray!

Now that I am staring at a computer screen all day again, my left eye has decided it is back to partial strike. I'm faster at responding to its demands, though. Lots of eye drops and a much more concerted attempt to look at other things every 15 minutes or so. And I bought computer glasses. Supposedly these will help because the coated lenses will reduce glare, and like reading glasses, they have a slight power. Unlike reading glasses (which made me ill when I tried them at my last job because they don't come in powers below 1.00), these new babies are only 0.25.

My fingers are crossed. I doubt disability insurance covers this type of problem...

Strangest Fundraiser Ever

I blog from a gorgeous banquet hall that used to be a bank back in the
day when banks occupied buildings that resembled Renaissance palazzos.
Husband's company bought a table for a fundraiser, so he brought me
(and my two lovely lady friends). We were excited to go to a fancy
schmancy dinner event.

Upon arrival, I marveled at the sushi bar, the pasta bar, the moo shu
station, the lox station, and the passed hors d'oevres. If the
reception was so delux, I could only imagine what was in store for
dinner! I stuffed myself silly anyway.

Good fucking thing I was so damn greedy. As we approached our table,
I remarked how close the tables were to one another. "I don't know
how the staff is going to manuver around to serve good," I said to no
one in particular. Our table was decked out with a floral
centerpiece, bread basket, dessert trays, milk and sugar, coffee cups
and saucers, water and wine glasses, two bottle of wine, forks (three
per setting, knives, and spoons. But no plates.

A waiter approached us. "Would you like tea?" he asked. That's when
it hit me: there was no dinner. I thought I should ask to verify my
suspicion. "Uh, is there dinner?" The waiter stared at me. "No,
that was before."

That would have been nice to know, as my friend didn't eat anything
during what was billed as the "reception." She ran off to scavenge
whatever was left and bring a plate back to the table.

I guess $25,000 doesn't buy much these days. Yeesh!

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Reading the Label

On my way to my bookclub this evening, I stopped at a Russian grocery store to pick up some treats. After browsing all the various candies, breads, crackers, cookies, and other baked goods, I settled on a package of what I thought were meringue cookies covered with chocolate. When I went to pay, I thought it would be fun to buy some candy, too. I picked up a package on the counter.

"What's this?" I asked the cashier.

"Oh, this is for something like make your stomach better digest," she said, struggling with her English.

"OK, I'll try them."

I paid and as I walked to my friend's apartment, I opened the yellow packaging. Instead of a chocolate bar or oat bar, I discovered four individually wrapped chewy chocolate bites. As I was chewing the third one, I realized it reminded a little bit of the chocolate calcium chews I used to eat years ago. Then I stopped dead in my tracks. Didn't she say that these were for digestions? OH MY GOD. WHAT IF I JUST ATE THREE CHOCOLATE LAXATIVES?!?! Well, it could be an interesting book club, I decided.

Fortunately, I had not shit my pants or my friend's sofa or stunk up her bathroom by the time our bookclub ended. However, I discovered that the cookies were some strange fruity marshmallow. It was deliciously over sweet, like the relief I felt at not crapping myself. But lesson learned: don't fuck around when you can't read labels!

Why I Love Steph and Husband

Steph is back in NYC this weekend to attend a wedding. When she
arrived at my apartment after the event, she launched into a diatribre
against the maid of honor, who boasted that she was born and raised in
Beverly Hills.

"I wanted to tell her that if she thought she was such hot shit, she
should put herself together a little better and get some good hair."

I asked her how the food was. "Well, it was OK. They served
something called Hong Kong lobster, which was lobster with fruit
chunks in mayonaise."

"Damn, that sounds like some sort of Chinese Jell-O mold!" Husband
said and made a face. He is horrified by Jell-O molds and Jell-O
salads. While we visited my family in the Chicago area last weekend,
he watched in disgust as my sister and I snarfed down my mom's special
Jell-O mold; frozen strawberries, Cool Whip, and strawberry Jell-O
mixed together. The final product is the prettiest pink, and the
frothy Jell-O melts in my mouth like a sweet cloud. It was my
favorite special treat as a kid.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Compentency

Other than the fact that I can't sleep,* I've been extra competent
lately. My last two stories were well received at school, although
everyone agreed that they need a bit of revising. I'm on top of my
game at work. It feels good. Now if I just were less exhausted and
able to see clearly out of my left eye, things would be great. But
I'm not really complaining. It could be a lot worse.

*Damn Maurice! He's been jogging along on the wheel that powers my
brain every day, but then instead of napping at night, he decides to
run 5 miles. Even at full speed, it takes a hamster a fucking long
time to run five miles. My brain is on overdrive the whole fucking
time.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

A Deadly Sin

In the last two days, I read four things* that lead me to a deadly sin. Oh, envy! How it rears its big ugly head up and makes me covet the talents of others. As I said to two of the writers, "It's like penis envy, only real.**" Yes, I want their tools. Maybe this is also a violation of a commandment, too - do not covet thy neighbor's literary skills.

*Two stories at school; The Scenic Route by Binnie Kirschenbaum; and a blog post by AV Flox about jizz as an anti-depressant whose conclusion I disagree with, but loved the writing anyway. Unlike the prior sentence, which is a good example of very bad writing.
**Sorry Freud, but I'm not buying your sexist crap. He'd probably like the study about how precious pearls of cum prevent women from being depressed that Flox wrote so well about...

It's No Accident that "Stupak" Looks a Lot Like "Stupid"

Two of my favorite organizations, the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice and Planned Parenthood are holding a National Day of Action today to lobby the Senate for health care reform that ensures women’s access to reproductive health care. Right now, things are not looking good.

Basically, the House passed a horrible amendment sponsored by Rep. Bart Stupak, an anti-choice douche bag. The amendment would prevent women who currently have health insurance plans that cover abortion from obtaining the same coverage if they buy it through an insurance exchange. This is a problem for me, but even worse is that private plans will likely drop abortion coverage in order to participate in the exchange. People who like imposing their religious beliefs on others are proposing the same thing in the Senate.

Planned Parenthood explains the situation (it's a long one):

The Bottom Line

• Under the Stupak amendment, millions of women would lose benefits that they currently have and millions more would be prohibited from getting the kind of private sector health care coverage that most women have today.


• Millions of women would lose private coverage for abortion services and millions more would be prohibited from buying it even with their own money.

The New Health Insurance Exchange

• The new health insurance exchange is intended to provide a new source of affordable, quality coverage for the roughly 46 million uninsured Americans and the millions more whose current coverage is unaffordable or inadequate.


• The House bill is expected to cover 96 percent of all uninsured Americans by offering subsidies for private coverage or the choice of a public plan. Depending on their income level and the final package approved by Congress, individuals would receive subsidies on a sliding scale to purchase private insurance through the exchange.


• Not everyone in the exchange would have subsidized coverage — a significant portion of people (for instance, those currently purchasing in the individual market and those working for small businesses) who would buy insurance in the exchange would not receive any subsidies, also known as affordability credits.

The Stupak Amendment

• The Stupak amendment prohibits any coverage of abortion in the public option and prohibits anyone receiving a federal subsidy from purchasing a health insurance plan that includes abortion. It also prohibits private health insurance plans from offering through the exchange a plan that includes abortion coverage to both subsidized and unsubsidized individuals.


• The Stupak amendment purports to allow women to purchase a separate, single-service “abortion rider,” but abortion riders don’t exist.


• Women are unlikely to think ahead to choose a plan that includes abortion coverage, since they do not plan for unplanned pregnancy.


• Realistically, the actual effect of the Stupak amendment is to ban abortion coverage across the entire exchange, for women with both subsidized and unsubsidized coverage.


• Example: Currently, a self-employed graphic designer or writer, buying coverage from Kaiser Permanente in the individual market, likely has abortion coverage. Under the health reform plan amended by Stupak, she would purchase that same plan from Kaiser Permanente in the exchange, but it would not include abortion coverage because it would be barred. This ban would be in effect even if she were paying the full premium. Similarly, a woman working for a small graphic design firm, who currently has abortion coverage through her company’s plan, would lose it under reform if the company decides to seek more affordable coverage in the exchange.

For more information on health care reform and the Stupak amendment, visit us at http://www.plannedparenthoodaction.org/healthreform.

End of Planned Parenthood info, and back to my ranting... If this pisses you off as much as it does me, call your Senator today. (Or email him or her, as I suspect the lines will be busy.) Perhaps yelling, "Stop the stupid Stupak amendment bullshit," is not the thing to say, but it does have alliteration, which is a good literary technique.

In all seriousness, something like this is NOT going to stop women from having abortions. Instead, it will force more women to wait longer for their procedure while they figure out how the hell to pay for it. If we want more late term abortions in this country, then by all means, support Stupak. But that would be stupid.

Knowledge

Years before I went back to school to study the craft of writing,* I spent scads of money to study social welfare policy and public administration at Columbia. Early on in the program, I realized that I went back when I was way too young, but I resolved to learn what I could. I discovered that I really liked statistics. This was a huge surprise.

My last semester at school, I enrolled in a poverty research class. Students paired up and selected a topic to investigate. We then we given national databases, which we ran many numbers over the course of the semester to support or disprove our thesis. It was exciting.

The topic I chose was whether children living in households with two adults had outcomes that matched those of children living in households with married parents. I pictured grandmothers, aunts, uncles, and other family members offering the same support that a spouse might (or might not) give, thus enabling children to live in more stable environments. My partner and I ran a gazillion multivariate regressions, basic stats like averages, and a fancy-schmancy time-hazard regression to see if this was true.

It was not. According to data from the National Longitudinal Survey of Youth, children from married households had better outcomes than those from two adult households, who in turn were better off as adults than children from single parent homes. I was crushed. Did this not mean that horrid policies put forth by right wing nutjobs were correct? That people really should rush off to get married (assuming they have the right, but that's another story), come hell or high water?

As I moped about my findings, my wise professor opened my eyes. He pointed out that the data may not support my theory, but that the social environment in which we live does not provide the same benefits to unmarried people. Perhaps if I recommended that we implement policies that support different types of households rather than continue to punish them for not conforming to a conservative view of family life, then the outcomes would improve.

I hadn't really considered that it was possible to take a "bad" finding and turn it into a tool for advocacy. This changed the way I interpreted studies and all sorts of news reports. Cool.

*Seriously, just typing "to study the craft of writing" cracks me up. I had hoped to learn how to write a book with a plot and characters. Instead, I discovered that I am not "literary" and my writing will never be literary, because my brain does not think that way. While this discovery caused enormous angst last year, I am OK with it now. I'll just admire people who write really beautiful sentences and go about my business trying to entertain people with a serviceable story. Which is not to say that I did not learn anything, because I learned a lot. But anyway...

Changing the Clock

Husband and I drove my grandmother home after dinner last night.
Before we left, we bid goodbye to my sister and brother-in-law, and to
our sleeping nephew. They planned to depart on Sunday at 5 am, as
Ryan had to work.

The streets were quiet as the car headed south to Grandma's house. We
made small talk, but I was thinking about when I would see everyone
next and not concentrating on the chatter.

After we glided into Grandma's driveway, Husband waited in the car
while I helped her up the concrete stairs to her dark house. I
grabbed the mail from the slot while she struggled with the lock.

She finally spotted the keyhole (she needs cataract surgery), and we
stepped into her warm home. The living room looked like Ms.
Havisham's house in "Great Expectations," dusty and frozen in time,
sans the moldy food. I put the mail on a metal table next to a
recliner that no one uses any more.

When I turned back to say goodbye to Granny, she was cradling a large
face digital clock.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said, "but do you think you can set the
clock back an hour? I know I shouldn't ask, but your mom tried and
she didn't know how to, and... Oh, I shouldn't have asked."

I took the clock. "Of course you should ask! It's no problem!" I
fiddled with it for a few minutes before I figured out how it worked.
Grandma apologized over and over for bothering me, and I smiled at her
and said it was no bother.

Finally, I set the clock back an hour. When I embraced Grandma's
shrinking frame in my arms as I said goodbye, she told me to come home
again soon. I promised I would try. If only I could turn the clock
back for real, we could have a little more time.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Quote of the Weekend

"Can you imagine someone with a face as cute as this making doody?"
-Mom, after my sister told her that Marcus took a dump as she changed his diaper

Also hilarious and weird: my sister asked me to look up "Too Close for
Comfort." It turns out that the first episode revealed that thew
downstairs neighbor, who died suddenly, was a transvestitie. I
remember none of this, but we laughed our asses off at wikipedia's
summary of the short-lived series, which in addition to the
transvestite, included a cow hand puppet, ventriloquism, and rotating
college sweatshirts. Almost more brilliant than sani-seats at the
airport.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Bathrooms

My favorite thing at O'Hare airport is the toilet seat wrap. All
public bathrooms in high traffic areas should have this. It's a
machine attached to the toilet that dispenses a fresh seat cover when
you wave your hand at it. Brilliant.

Hours and hours later, my mom broke the news that an elderly relative
would be unable to visit tomorrow. "She can't get a ride here," Mom
said. "And she is taking an antibiotic and has terrible diarrhea. I
said, 'Well, don't come if you have diarrhea,' and she said, 'Yeah, I
have terrible diarrhea.'"

My sister and I looked at our pieces of orangy-brown pumpkin pie.
Yum. The Sani-Seat seemed extra useful at the moment.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Random Things I Am Thankful for Today

In alphabetical order:

- Comfortable shoes
- Doody jokes
- Family
- Feminism
- Friends
- Husband (yes, he's family and friends, but merits extra thankfulness)
- Literacy
- London
- Marcus (yes, also family, but I am also extra thankful for him)
- New job
- New York City
- Public transportation
- Running outside or on a treadmill
- Theo, my teddy bear

Have a happy and healthy Thanksgiving!

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Venting

The air circulation in my new office is not very good. For the two days I've been there, I've used my special ugly office sweater* in the morning, and sweltered in the afternoon. Weirdly, this was also how it was at the job I left in 2006. I was just cold all the time at other jobs.

The reason I was always cold at my various places of employment is because I am inevitably seated directly under or just to the side of the air condition vent. Today I was pleased to think about how this new job was different in that respect. Then I craned my head all the way back and looked at the ceiling. Yep, I'm under the vent. It's gonna be a cold summer. (And winter, if like at my other jobs, the building blasts the heat so high that each office runs the air condition to counter balance the inferno. Yeah, energy efficiency at its finest.)

*At every job I've ever had, I've left a cardigan on the back of my chair in case I get cold. Since the sweater lives at the office, I don't want to waste a nice one, so I bring the ugliest sweater I own. This job's ugly office sweater is the one I obtained for free at this summer's BlogHer conference. Hideous, especially in navy & "Aztec gold."

More Butt Humor, Butt (ha!) Not Gross

While Dr. P was in Vermont with her family, she noticed a product at a general store called "Anti-Monkey Butt Powder." We watched two hilarious ads on YouTube for this excellent product, which I thought I would share:

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder: The Jogger

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder: The Biker (as in motorcyclist, which is even better than bicyclist)

I hoped to embed the short videos in CUSS, but no codes for embedding were available. Boo. Well worth clicking on, and safe for work!

Speaking on work, my first day at my new job is tomorrow. I'm nervous, but excited. I wish I had not down enormous quantities of Indian food last night, though, as my stomach doth protest. I need to quash the rebellion ASAP if I want to continue to have a job after my first day. No one wants to work with a gas bag.

What We Saw at a Bus Stop in the West Village

Warning: This is likely the most disgusting thing I've ever posted on CUSS...

As Steph and I strolled through the West Village this afternoon, she pointed out all the things that had changed since she moved. One of new arrivals is fancy bus shelters. We walked up to a glass and metal bus structure, and Steph gasped.

"Do you see what I see next to the bench?"

"Um, yes. Yes, I do."

"That's a dildo."

"With shit caked on it, yes."

Brilliant Analysis of "Socialized" Medicine

I met Laurie Penny earlier this year while she was visiting New York City. She is just as brilliant in person as in print. I fell over laughing when I read her take on British health care at The Huffington Post:

My partner suffers from a joint disorder which requires regular operations, paid for by the British NHS. His most recent procedure was performed without anaesthetic by a drunken surgeon wielding a rusty hacksaw. As I forced a mouldy rag between his teeth to stop him screaming, an official wearing Nazi insignia burst in and informed us that limbs were not considered an NHS spending priority, so dirty chisels were employed to remove both his legs and one of his arms. My partner is now a triple amputee, and I am forced to prostitute myself for heroin to numb the pain of living in an Orwellian super-state. God save the Queen.

This decidedly made-up story is hardly more ridiculous than the lies that Republicans have been peddling about the NHS all week.

The rest is very serious and wise and required reading. (I would only add that if she were to fall pregnant tomorrow, NHS would offer her support for bringing the pregnancy to term, as she notes, or for terminating it.) Great job!

Naming Names: A Cautionary Tale

The number one rule of blogging is not to use people's names unless they tell you it is OK. Generally, I follow this rule religiously. Some of my friends and family are identified by their real names; others get fake ones. If I link to a blog, I use the blogger's blog name, which may be different from his or her non-blogging name.

So I have no idea what I was thinking back in February, when I wrote a post about why I hate Valentine's Day. Not only did I use the real names of guys I knew in high school, but I lost my mind completely and also put in their last names. Perhaps this was due to a carb deficit, as I was in Phase I of the South Beach Diet, and Maurice (the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain) was unable to perform at the minimal level he usually offers. Whatever the reason, not cool.

Even less cool is how this came to my attention. The gentleman now referred to as Mr. X was displeased that I shared this story. It seems his in-laws and maybe also fantasy football league googled his name and then mocked him, although I don't see why he was mockable - I'm the total fucking shit in the story. Whatever, he was not amused. I felt awful and took his name out, but we all know the problem with the internet - once it is out there, it's not entirely erasable.

I sincerely hope that this will not cause Mr. X any more grief. It was incredibly bad judgment on my part.

Four Bad Ideas in No Particular Order

1. My scary bear hat flew off my personage when a big gust of wind overtook me in London on Saturday. It landed in a muddy puddle at the edge of the curb. As I reached out to pluck it up, I realized that a bus was barreling down the road. I wondered if I could grab it before the bus got there. I snatched back my hand with a second to spare. Unfortunately, the bus ran over my poor hat. When the light changed, I picked it up again, sopping and dirty. All's well that ends well on this, as I did not lose my hand and the hat came out of the washing machine and drier as good as new.

2. For my lit class tomorrow, we are reading What Is the What by Dave Eggers. It is an excellent "autobiography" of one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. (It also could maybe be about 100 pages shorter, but I still recommend it.) People stared at me while I read it on the subway and bawled.

3 & 4. Last night I defrosted a large plastic container of Daisy Mae's baked beans that I found in the back of my freezer. I plan on eating them tomorrow for lunch. It's double whammy of potentially bad ideas, as I probably should not eat a lot of beans before going to class, and the container has been in the freezer since my book party. My book party rocked the house in August 2008.

What Happens in London, Goes on My Blog*

As always, London was brilliant. I am sadder than ever that Husband's potential job in London fell through last summer. I so adore it.

My flight landed a bit early on Thursday night, customs was empty, and the tube came almost right away, so I arrived at my friend Mara's doorstep around 9 pm. We hung out with another friend of hers, then went out to meet a crowd of randy Brits for drinks. (I even had a Pimm's, which horrified the experienced drinkers, as they informed me, "Pimm's is a summer drink." However, they were even more horrified to discover that otherwise I rarely, if ever, imbibe.)

Friday, Mara and I hung around her neighborhood until the afternoon. Then we had fish and chips at The Golden Hind in Marylebone (which is the neighborhood Husband and I planned to move to before the deal fell through). On the way, we walked through a festively decorated passage:After eating, we decided to eat more, and went to Borough Market, where I saw pheasants for the first time:I also ate many samples of cheese and the most delicious custard tart ever ingested.We then wandered around a bit, then called it a day and had dinner at her flat. (Mara is an amazing cook.)

On Saturday, we headed out early to try and eat breakfast at Gordon's Wine Bar, which is thought to be the oldest wine bar in London, and literally is partly in a cave. However, it didn't open until 11, and we were planned to take a walking tour at 10:30, so we dived into a little cafe instead.

The walking tour was excellent. I learned about the installation of London's sewer system after the summer of "The Great Stink," when the Thames was so rancid that members of Parliament could not open their windows. I also learned that the Waterloo Bridge was built by an all-women crew, since the men went off to WWII. Shockingly, it still stands today:I mean, who'd've thunk that women could do construction 'n' shit? Sigh...

I also got a brilliant shot of the original Scotland Yard from the 5th floor terrace of Royal Festival Hall, which is a great public building in and of itself:
(It's the reddish brink one.)

Next, we went through an area revitalized and operated by the Coin Street Community Corporation, a community development group. The organization does affordable housing, social services, and commercial space. I have no idea what all this carved wood was about, but I loved it:The whole thing once again made me sad that a) I didn't move there, as I would love to work for an organization like that; and b) that I won't work in community development directly with my new job. Oh well.

Finally on the walking tour, I loved this collection of M. Potato Heads in someone's arched doorway:Mara had to work on Sunday, but Husband came into town for work, so I spent the day with him. We headed east to see an exhibit of works by Sophie Calle (totally brilliant) at the Whitechapel Gallery, then beigels with salt beef (aka corned beef) at my favourite bagel place in the world, Brick Lane Beigel Bake. On the way to the gallery, we passed the smartest store awning ever: Husband loved that the banner above it advertised a weight loss clinic. Down the street, we saw:Full (from beigels, not Tubby Isaacs jellied eels), we headed back to the fancy area near our hotel, stopping at Selfriges Department Store's Really Really Great Garage Sale, which took place in the car park. I am honestly not sure what the hell it was - lots of random junk on tables, and some women kept trying to get me to buy a word process for 5 GPB - but it did have, uh, reindeer:
And that was my whirlwind weekend in London. Yes, I cried on the tube as I headed toward the airport on Sunday night. The good news is that Steph is coming to stay with me this weekend, so that will be fun. It's always easier to come back from a trip when there are other good things to look forward to.

*For the most part...

The Week of Furniture

My return to New York will be followed by exciting furniture deliveries. In October, I wrote a letter to Room and Board cursing them for failing to have a sofa I ordered in August. Last week, the warehouse called me and said that they will not only deliver our couch to us on Nov. 18, but that it will include the sofa bed that we actually purchased. How exciting! I would love to credit my angry internet letter, but I know that it was Husband's phone call to the incompetent sales rep in which he said he'd cancel the whole thing that made it magically be processed in a timely fashion.

Even better, the new sofa bed will arrive in time for Steph's visit. She shall sleep on a cushiony bed fit for the princess she is. (No need for me to demonstrate her royally high standards by putting a pea under it.)

Only slightly less exciting because the purchase involved significantly less drama, my new nightstand, which CUSS readers helped me select (and which Macy's closed the deal on by having it on sale for 77% off), is scheduled to arrive on tomorrow.

Oh, the classiness! I almost can't live here any more. Almost.

Best Cartoon Ever Revisited

Years ago, I wrote a post about a "game" called "ookie cookie" or "cum on a cookie." Basically, guys stand around in a circle and jerk off onto a cookie and whoever finishes last has to eat it. I profess to not understand males in any way, shape, or form. There are so many things that are wrong about people who would engage in such an activity.

Anyway, in response, my friend Mar sent me the greatest cartoon ever:



I am committed to republishing this cartoon every once in a while because I find it so fucking hilarious. Enjoy!

NaBloPoMo

November is National Blog Posting Month. I missed the Nov. 5 deadline to submit my blog as an official participant, but my goal is to blog daily anyway. My trip to London this weekend and my upcoming visit to my family in Chicago over Thanksgiving weekend may prevent me from achieving my goal, but whatever. I'm not on the blogroll, so I won't feel too bad about it.

In 2006, I volunteered as a NaBloPoMo blog reviewer. I was assigned to look at the participating blogs whose titles began with the letters H,I,J,K, and L. That was, uh, fun. If I wasn't so lazy, I would click on each of the blogs that I linked to and see how many are still around. Initially I was going to say that the best part of doing the reviews is that I "met" Eddie from Chicken Fat as a result, but I just realized that is not true. We met through some humor writing contest thing.

While I looked over my NaBloPoMo reports, I enjoyed the writing that I did in Nov. 2006. That was the month I issued my request for more information on Jewish pussy, which I deemed necessary because so many people came to CUSS while googling that term. I wanted to know what on earth they expected to find when searching for "jewish pussy." I still get comments on that, much to my enlightenment and amusement. (I think it is my most commented upon post, actually.)

November 2006 - good times!

Visiting the Queen

Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?
I've been to London to visit the Queen.
Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there?
I frightened a mouse under her chair.

Yes, today I am on my way to London to visit my friend Mara, who is a queen in my mind. (I hope, however, to not encounter any mice, under her chair or wherever.) I have not seen Mara or her adorable daughter or amusing husband in over a year, so I booked my flight with frequent flier miles a few weeks ago, hoping that if I found a job before then that I could work around my trip. So far, so good. I only wish that my class schedule had permitted me more than a long weekend trip.

Husband actually will also be there for work, although he is not arriving until Sat. and I depart Sunday night. We have jolly times planned with lots of eating and wandering around and museum-going. I shall post pictures.

I adore London. Last summer, it seemed that Husband would move there for work for four years, and although it scared me a little to leave the US, I became very excited about the adventure. Once I got into it, of course, the plan was called off. Logistically, that's good since I wound up going back to school and I didn't want to live away from Husband for months at a time, and then my sister had a baby and I'd never get to see him if I lived so far away. But I'm still a bit sad that it didn't work out. Maybe another time. In the meantime, I'll enjoy my trip.

Publishers Weekly Best Ten Books of 2009 - 100% Male

The problem with feminism is that it makes women crazy. We seem to believe that our words and our stories matter, and that we are not only capable of telling stories, but that we can excel at it. Our voices and our story telling techniques may differ from what has traditionally been viewed as great literature, but we think that doesn't mean that they are not equally good.

Of course, these beliefs are silly, and Publishers Weekly took great pains to remind people that women's work is just not up to par with that of (white) men. Their list of the ten best books of 2009 includes ten dudes, nine of whom are white. Some people bristled at this. Kamy Wicoff at She Write - an online community of women writers that is free and you should join - wrote:

Try to imagine if they had come out with a list of the Best Books of 2009 and it had included ZERO MEN. Try to imagine if Amazon had released its Best Books of 2009 and it had included only TWO men. I know it's hard. But just try.

Wicoff asked the She Writes community to take action. To protest this ridiculous list, we should all buy a book published by a woman in 2009, take a photo of ourselves with it, and explain why we bought it.



Here I am with the 2009 paperback edition of American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld. When the hardcover came out in 2008, it received glowing reviews. My friend Alex Elliot read it for her bookclub, and said that I would really like it. Sittenfeld and I are the same age, and I wish that I had an ounce of her talent.

I don't have pictures of myself with another two books that came out in 2009, but last night I attended a reading of A Friend of the Family by Lauren Grodstein. I thought it was great. Deborah Copaken Cogan also read From Here to April, which came out in hardcover in 2008 and paperback this month. It was also excellent. Both works were funny and thought-provoking, as were their creators.

If you are also pissed about the Publishers Weekly list, join the She Writes community's protest. Once you post a picture of yourself on your blog holding a book you bought by a female writer that came out in 2009 (the deadline is Friday), send Kamy the link at kamy@shewrites.com. She Writes will send these links to the entire community (5000+) on Saturday. While the emphasis is on women writers protesting, I think anyone who cares about sexism should feel free to participate.

Living in Outer Space

As noted in previous blog posts, my memory is shot. I re-write entire stories, I forget birthdays and anniversaries (CUSS hit the four year mark on Oct. 19), and alternatively I believed that I was both 32 and 34 this year. Yesterday I had the ultimate space out day.

I woke up late, but was still tired and remained groggy while eating breakfast. While reading the newspaper, I drifted back into sleep. In hindsight, I think this was when the aliens focused their suction beam on me, but they were thwarted in their morning efforts to kidnap me when my friend Sara called and woke me up. She popped over for what was supposed to be a way to kill 30 minutes before yoga class, but turned into a morning chat fest that ended when I walked her to her noon appointment.

At that point, I was supposed to hop on the subway and meet my friend for lunch downtown. Instead, the aliens seized the moment and sucked me into space. Next thing I knew, it was 3:30 and I checked my BlackBerry life-organizing machine for the first time that day. Boy, did the aliens fuck me up! Still, I felt horrible missing my lunch date, and called my friend.

When I begged for her forgiveness, I left out the part about the alien abduction and took full responsibility for my pathetic inaction. But I'm not sure which is scarier - the fact that I let an afternoon pass and have no idea what I was doing during that time, or my wish that aliens abducted me so I could have some explanation for my spaciness.

Move On

When the liberal advocacy organization MoveOn.org was founded a few years ago, I was psyched. Approximately 900,000 emails from them later, not so much. Every day in the last few weeks, I received three emails from them. I blew my gasket today.

My motivating MoveOn email today noted that the Senate could really screw up the health care bill. My presence was requested at a rally to support the legislation that was out there. There was a little line thrown in about how anti-choice advocates muscled their religious beliefs into health care, denying women access to abortions, but whatever.

No, not whatever. I am sick of sacrificing my rights for the "greater good" when no one else seems to think they should ever do so. In yet another mass email I received (this time from Media Matters for America; I swear every progressive organization on the planet emails me daily), I learned that media coverage of the legislation is - surprise, surprise - completely misleading:

Media figures continue to falsely claim that a proposed anti-abortion amendment to the House health care reform bill would only have the effect of prohibiting government money from being used to pay for abortions, echoing a myth previously advanced about a proposed amendment to a prior version of that legislation. In fact, language in the current House bill already segregates federal money so it cannot be used directly to fund abortions, and the proposed amendment would effectively ban abortion coverage for some who have it now.

(Emphasis mine.)

Ellen Malcolm explains at The Huffington Post:

The Amendment effectively bans private insurance companies that participate in insurance exchanges from providing coverage of abortion. It tries to camouflage the impact by providing an "abortion rider" that women could choose to pay extra for to cover costs if they have an abortion.

I'm tired of being thrown under the bus so that others can roll forward over me. When the Catholic bishops (who launched "a forceful lobbying effort" that is credited "with the success of the provision") and other religious fundamentalists next want to forbid insurance plans from covering contraceptives or protect "pharmacists" who decline to fill prescriptions that they find morally objectionable, am I again supposed to step aside for the greater good? No. Instead, I shall Move On.

No Justice. Again.

The House of Representatives passed a shitty excuse for a health care plan. It includes no public option. (Sorry, I misunderstood the newspaper this morning.) It also gave in to fundamentalist religious groups and barred abortion coverage for anyone obtaining health insurance with government subsidies.

Some might argue that it is wrong to use taxpayers' money for things that certain taxpayers might object to. But we do that every day, anyway. I object to the death penalty, but every execution that happens in my state (which fortunately has been none) would be partly subsidized with my tax money. I object to Halliburton receiving no bid contracts to do nothing in Iraq. I object to hiring private "security" (paramilitary) firms being paid to "guard" stuff in Iraq. I object to the ludicrous idea that companies that are contracted by the US to work in Iraq are not subject to following US laws, so that women are raped by their co-workers and fired, the company has no responsibility. I object to using taxpayer money to build sports stadiums. The list goes on and on.

The problem with democracy is that sometimes you are stuck monetarily supporting things that you find morally reprehensible. If a person doesn't like it, too fucking bad. He doesn't have the right to impose his religious beliefs on me or other people.

Of course, not all religious groups are obnoxious fucking hypocritical assholes who insist on religious freedom for themselves but them force their beliefs down the throats of others. I know this. That's why, even though I don't believe in a Judeo-Christian God, I support the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice. I think they do important work reminding people that religion does not have to oppress other people. I suppose it will be hard to continue supporting them when I live in my cave, hanging out with bats and shunning humanity, but as I said, there's no justice. I don't even know why I expect it every once in a while.

Association Residence for Respectable Aged Indigent Females

A few days ago, as I walked home from Harlem, I passed a Gothic-looking building on Amsterdam between 104th and 103rd St. I knew it was the New York branch of American Youth Hostels, but noticed for the first time a little sign on a porch indicating the building's historic value. I climbed the stairs to get closer. I nearly fell down laughing when I read the header, "Association Residence for Respectable Aged Indigent Females." Wow, I would never be allowed in there! I thought.

The New York Historical Society explains that the organization:

Started in the fall of 1813 as a small association of women, the Society for the Relief of Indigent Respectable Females was formally established on February 14, 1814 in New York City. Intending to provide charity for a class of society they felt was neglected, the Society raised money largely through private donations to supply gifts of clothing, small stoves, and food for elderly women living in poverty. The Society was created out of religious obligation to a Christian ethic and continued to remain very close to the Christian faith throughout its history.

The sign on the building, though, specified that it was founded to help widows of soldiers felled in the American Revolution and War of 1812.

Setting aside the qualifications of widowhood, elderliness, and Christianity, the building would not have taken me because I have lots of opinions and voice them. It seems that respectable women are still not supposed to do that. Oh well.

Third Time x Third Time = Triple the Charm

As a kid, I hated math. Hated, hated, hated it. I was often absent from school due to illness (in the early years, asthma; in the later years, depression), and so the lessons I missed created a big gap for me to overcome. My junior year of high school, I explained to my math teacher that "I'm going to be a lawyer, so I don't need math."

Fast forwarding to the day I dropped out of law school and decided to get a public policy degree... Shit, all the public service programs have stats and econ in their curricula. But I suck at math. Oy vey iz mir! Much hand wringing.

Fast forward to my second job after college, which required me to use Excel for lots of number crunching, which was something I rather liked during a college internship but dismissed...Math is fun!

Ok, now that I am completely off topic, the point of my little subject line formula is to ponder whether the adage, "The third time's the charm," is truer if you multiply the third time by three. All of this comes up because, the 9th organization that interviewed me for a job offered me a position! And I accepted. So I'm very excited.

As long as I brought up numbers, here's the rest of my job search in digits:

• Number of resumes sent: over 60


• Number of organizations that interviewed me: 11 (12 if you count the place that called last night)


• Number of interviews: 15 (some were two step processes)


• Number of offers: 1


• Number of places that contacted me to request more info (like salary request or writing samples) and then never contacted me again: 2


• Number of times I freaked out and got a manicure: 1


• Amount of money spent on "respectable interview watch:" $40 at Filene's Basement
  Amount of money spent on lipstick: $1.99, when I realized that I forgot to put it in my bag and bring it with me, so ran to Duane Reade Pharmacy


• Level of anxiety about the whole situation: Immeasurable

So I'm very happy that I found a job in what I think will be a great place to work. My policy is to keep work out of my blog, so I'll just say that it is a position that requires writing and the organization works to increase economic and social justice in disenfranchised American communities. I'm psyched. Now I'm off to clean my bathroom...

The Gonifs* Win

A few years ago, Rudy Giuliani, a mega Yankee fan and dictatorial mayor, put together a deal offering the Yankees a new stadium. This ballpark would be financed in part by New York City taxpayers. It would also require taking one of the few public parks in the South Bronx** and handing it over to the Yankees for the new structure. Boo! Hiss!

Then, thank to term limits (a concept I generally disagree with as it is not compatible with democratic elections, but that's another story), Giuliani could not run for mayor again. Whew! The new mayor, Michael Bloomberg, announced that the public was not in the business of building new stadiums for sports teams. Hurray! Rah rah rah!

Fast forward a few years, and Mayor Bloomberg inks a deal turning Macombs Dam Park over to the Yankees for their new stadium. There is lots of taxpayers supported financing, and a secret deal for a fancy luxury box for high ranking city officials, which somehow is called a public benefit. The Yankees also get a new MetroNorth stop, so that rich Republican assholes from Westchester need not set a foot in the surrounding neighborhood. In exchange, the Yankees agree to create a series of new little parks for the impoverished people of the South Bronx. Very generous of them, right? Boo! Hiss! Rotten tomatoes!!!

Now that the Yankees won the World Series, are the people who live in the shadows of the new stadium gathering in the newly built parks to celebrate? No, because there are no new parks. At best, there might be a park in 2011. But one of the lots promised to be a park is now actually going to be a parking lot. Sure, I understand that "parking" has the word "park" in it, but my dear Yankees, they are not one and the same.

So, go Yankees. Nice work. Taking from the poor and giving to the rich is considered an admirable American trait. You are exactly the American champions you set out to be.

*Gonif: Thief in Yiddish
**The Bronx, incidentally, is the poorest urban county in the US. The South Bronx is the poorest neighborhood in the Bronx. Clearly, these people have a lot to spare for a struggling sports team that has little revenue...

Elections: Good and Bad News

For the second morning in a row, the day began with promise. I woke up early and with big plans. Then I picked up The New York Times.

At first I didn't understand what I saw. Why was that fucking anti-choice, social conservative idiot with no plans at all for how to govern New Jersey on the front cover of the paper? No paper puts a big picture of the loser, and as my friend said on Monday, a good sign that he is not intelligent is that his first and last names are more or less the same. (Maybe this would work in Scandinavia, but it is silly here, I agreed.) But no. The stupid fuck his his right-wing agenda and won. People in New Jersey chose a moron with no ideas other than attacking his opponent's plans to save their state from recession.* Good luck with that.

I was relieved, however, to learn that the Democratic candidate in a district in upstate New York won. For 150 years, this community was represented only by Republicans. (Of course, that meant something different 150 years ago when it was the party of Lincoln, but that's another story.) Crazy conservatives around the country banded together to smear the moderate Republican candidate because she had the audacity to support gay marriage and keeping abortion legal. She was supported by all the local Republican leadership. But it seems that what people want is not good enough for the fringe elements that control the Republican party, who know much better than everyone else what they want, and if you don't agree with them, you will be punished. After months of verbal assaults from the likes of Sarah Palin and Rush Limbaugh, who supporting a crazy right-wing third party candidate, the Republican dropped out right before the election and endorsed the Democrat. He won narrowly.

My interpretation of all this insanity is that people still do not want to elect hatemongers. Christie won in part because he hid his conservative agenda, and this is also true of the Republican who just won Virginia. They emphasized the economy, not hating gay people or women's reproductive rights. In upstate New York, when the candidate foisted onto the voters emphasized his intolerance of people not like him, he lost. See, Sarah Palin and Rush Limbaugh and the crazy bitch in the Times who praised the national coalition who imposed their will on a small area of New York, people do not embrace your so-called values. If you want to win and continue to oppress people with your evilness, you have to hide your agenda.

There may be hope yet.

*This reminded me why a story that we read in class that same night made me laugh. My classmate submitted a story about playing guitar in high school, and described his magnet school as offering an education to "the best and brightest of New Jersey." I thought he was making a joke about New Jersey's image as people with big bangs and a love of shopping malls, but it turned out he was serious.

Richard Peck Made Me Cry Today

The day started out well. I woke up a bit before my alarm sounded, feeling refreshed. After feeding Tycho the rabbit and myself, I ran three miles at the gym. Then I scurried home to purchase U2 concert tickets for Husband. For a concert on Sept. 16, 2010.

Ticket purchasing is not as easy as it sounds. First, he had to subscribe to the band's fan site. This runs something like $50. Then he received an email with a secret code that could be used to purchase up to four tickets before they went on sale to the general public. Since Husband was at a Very Important Meeting when his special group of bribe givers was allowed to give U2 more of their money, he asked me to click on the magic link, enter the code, and secure the best tickets available, at whatever cost.

Fine. How hard can that be? Except that he already used the code he provided me for tickets for a concert this past September. And I had no access to his U2 account to find his new entree to U2 happiness. The man asked me to do a simple task, and it distressed me to no end. He works hard. All he wants are some fucking concert tickets, and I could not provide. Two frustrating hours later, I finally bought the tickets. Yay.

However, I was late for everything else I had to do today. Among other things that did not get done in a timely fashion, I missed a call from an organization offering me a job. Yay for the job offer, boo for missing the call. I left the woman an overly enthusiastic message on her voice mail at 5:30.

Blah, blah, blah. Fortunately, I arrived at school on time to hear my favorite author from when I was in 4th grade. Blossom Culp, the main character in Ghosts I Have Been, was a hero to me back then. I wanted to be her. So all semester, I'd been waiting to hear Richard Peck. During his talk about writing, he said, "I write for lonely people looking for friends in books."

Thank you, Mr. Peck.

The Nightstand Dilemma: What Would CUSS Readers Do?

In Ye Olden Dayes, when people had questions about situations they faced, they traveled miles and miles on foot and donkey to seek answers. The Oracle at Delphi was popular with the ancient Greeks, for example. How lucky we are today! I am extremely grateful that I don't need to schlepp to the top of a mountain to find help for my thorny dilemmas, but instead can turn to the visionaries of the internet for their advice. This not only saves time and money, but does not require me to change out of my pajamas.*

So here, Great Sages and Visionaries of the Blogosphere, is my pressing problem: my nightstand of nine years broke. Given that I purchased it from Ikea, it's run as my bedside companion is very impressive. The drawers went a little off track a few years ago, but two weeks ago, the plastic snapped, and now the middle drawer rests in the bottom drawer.
This will not do. It is time to invest in a new nightstand.

I initially purchased a similar three drawer model from Ikea for $40. However, Husband and I managed to fuck up putting it together in rather inventive ways, and he told me never to buy anything that required construction from Ikea again. I went back to the internets and found two alternatives:

Option A:


Option B:


Now, there is nothing wrong with Option A. I could totally be fine, even happy, with Option A. It might even match a dresser that Husband has, which would be exciting. However, Option B is gorgeous. How can I not desire its sleek design and shiny wood? O, Oracle, how I covet it!

The problem is that Option B costs three times as much as Option A. Husband told me that it's OK to spend some money on nicer furniture (nicer furniture that will of course match nothing else we own, another bonus in my trashy eyes), but I can't help but feel guilty at spending so much money on a freakin' nightstand, even if it is the best nightstand ever made.

What would you do?

*To be accurate, I'm wearing my gym clothes. But whatever. It would probably be disrespectful to consult the Oracle in smelly gym pants.

NYC Marathon

Today is the New York City Marathon. In honor of the event, in which I am qualified to participate in any way, shape, or form, I carbo loaded yesterday. This involved eating three large, frosted Halloween cookies over the course of the day. I also ate some roasted corn purchased at a farm stand in eastern Long Island. Then I consumed many at least seven Tootsie Rolls and one Tootsie Pop, five mini Kit Kats, and one mini Twizzlers. At lunch I downed a lobster roll in an amazing buttery brioche roll, accompanied by salty chips and fresh guacamole. Capping off my day of marathon prep, I ate a bagel with cream cheese and matzo ball soup for dinner.

When I arose this morning, basking in my free extra hour of sleep, I was ready to hit the treadmill. The plan was to run as far as I could in 35 minutes. The gym had the marathon on TV. Although the women ran at double my plodding pace (a 5:47 mile versus my 11:00 one), I felt like I matched them stride for stride as they streaked across the TV. Since I had no sinus meltdown, shoulder pain, or intestinal cramps during my run, I felt like a champion. Wooooo hooo!

Now I'm pondering the upcoming year. I'll be 35 years old at the end of December. When I was in third grade, I had to be rushed to the emergency room after I ran the 880 dash at school and was the first girl to finish, coming in third overall. Twenty years ago, I could barely walk a mile in 30 minutes. At the age of 25 and in the best shape I'll ever be in, I could run a 9:13 mile. So it's been a spotty record, but I'm proud of it. I think I'd like to run a race sometime in 2010 to celebrate my birthday. Not a marathon, but maybe a 10k or 15k. Anyone want to join me? We can plod along together (or you can leave me in your dust if you run faster. I won't be offended.)

Happy Halloween

This Frankenstein cookie tastes as good as it looks. (Seriously, it was a good Halloween treat. I ate three of them.)

Mmmrrrgggaahhh (scary monster noise)! And don't forget to set your clocks back!

Dearest Room and Board

Dear Room and Board,

Remember me? I came to your store in SoHo with my husband on Aug. 8. After several salespeople ignored us, one woman finally deigned to take our order for a fancy new couch. This was only because she was incompetent and unable to properly enter it into the system. When I pointed out that the receipt did not reflect what we attempted to purchase, she consulted with the manager, who suggested that she add a note modifying the purchase order.

We were then informed that our fancy new couch would arrive at the Minneapolis warehouse in late September, and we would receive it by the end of October. I found this a bit odd, since the manufacturer is in North Carolina and Minneapolis seems a bit out of the way for a couch going to New York, but I accepted the verdict. At the time, I did not realize that there was also a warehouse in New Jersey.

The oddity of it all made me nervous, so in mid-September, I decided that I didn't care if I acted like a crazy paranoid lady, and called you to check on my order. Surprise, surprise. It was wrong. Adjustments were made, and you promised that the proper couch would arrive. An even bigger surprise was when your New Jersey warehouse called me two weeks later to schedule the delivery of said wrong item.

After much confusion, your staff told me that you would hold the couch in your warehouse until the proper sofa bed arrived and would be swapped for the wrong one. Since I was originally told that I would not have the couch until late October, this did not phase me much. I could wait.

However, when your warehouse again called to deliver the sofa this week, no one seemed sure what exactly I would get. One rep said a memory foam mattress would arrive sans sofa on Thursday (bad), and that a sofa with an air mattress would be delivered on Friday (bad). Another rep said I would get a sofa with an memory foam bed (good). A third said I would only get a sofa with an air mattress (bad.) Today your incompetent sales rep called to inform me that I would receive a sofa with an air mattress and that the mattress I actually ordered was on back order. One day in the future, that would be delivered to my home and the sofa bed swapping would ensue. She said you didn't want to delay my enjoyment of the couch.

I really wanted to ask WHAT THE FUCK THE COUCH WAS DOING IN YOUR WAREHOUSE FOR FOUR FUCKING WEEKS IF THE MATTRESS WAS ON BACK ORDER WITH NO DELIVERY DATE IN SIGHT, but I instead said OK and hung up the phone. Then I called my husband and suggested that he deal with you while I go to a job interview. We concluded that we don't really want your stupid fucking couch at this point.

Thank you,
Suzanne Reisman

Maurice Runs the Wheel Out of My Head

Earlier this year, I handed in a story in my lit class. I thought it was really good, so I was surprised when my instructor gave it back the next week with no comments. When I asked her why she didn't like it, she explained that she always looked forward to my work, so she was disappointed to read a story I had submitted before.

I was confused, as I was certain that I had been thinking about the story for weeks, so I didn't see how I could have handed it in already. But when I looked through my files, I discovered that I had written a story, turned it in, forgot, and then wrote almost word for word the exact same story and handed it in. It was scary.

Nine months later, I decided to write a story about my work with Haven Coalition. I knew I wrote a short piece about it first semester, so I re-read it, and used what worked. I thought I wrote a scene in which I was at my desk at work, the phone rang, and my first hosting night was arranged. But when I looked through my files (eerie music), I found a story I wrote almost exactly a year ago that, almost word for word, had the same opening.

Maurice, the hamster who runs the wheel that powers my brain, is scaring me. On one hand, if I wrote almost the exact same thing a year apart, I think it means that I had an important idea, and I'm glad that I did not forget. The fact that I have no memory of doing this is disturbing.

Luke, I Am Your Father*

I came across this picture in New York Magazine this morning under the headline, "Katie Lee, Movin' Out." My mind properly triggered, I made the link between the cute girl woman pictured and singer Billy Joel. I thought, "Oh, it's a good thing that Billy Joel's daughter looks just like her mom, Christie Brinkley. And how nice that she's moving out of her dad's house to work on her celebrity cookbook line."

Then I remembered that Billy Joel and Christie Brinkley's daughter is named Alexa, and that she looks like her dad. When I read the article, and realized that this woman is Billy Joel's ex-wife. Ooops.

*OK, as I recently learned, this line was never actually in the movie, and the actual dialog is:

Luke: You killed my father!
Darth Vader: No. I am your father.

but this whole post is about misunderstandings, so it seems fitting.

The Republican in My Apartment

I am not biased against all Republicans. In fact, I realized that I live with one. It was a little bit of a shock at first, but I sort of even adore him.

How did I figure out that there's a covert Republican in my household? I evaluated his key personality traits:

1. He is greedy. If offered a piece of candy or raisin, he gobbles it down without thanking the giver, as if he is owed the treat. Then he expects more and turns his back if additional bribes are not provided.

2. He makes messes and does not clean up after himself. However, he seems to be a moderate Republican, as I am not subjected to hypocritical griping about how other people need to take more responsibility for their actions. He just expects me to clean up after him.

3. His situation in life is inherited. He does nothing all day, yet lives a very nice lifestyle, thanks to other hardworking members of society who provide for him.

4. He seems to like the Yankees. (This is not definite proof that he is a Republican, as I know some excellent old school New Yorkers who are liberal and root for the greediest corporate welfare team in America.) While I watched the play off games, he emerged from his space and joined me a bit. He never did this when I watched Mets games in the past. Everyone knows that the Mets are the team of the people. (Yeah, losers like the rest of us chumps, but I digress.)

Here he is doing what Republicans do best, which is mooching off hard working, honest people after sitting around all day doing nothing to earn their keep:

Tycho is cute, though. And since e can't help his small-brained natural instincts for survival, I forgive him.