Dr. George Tiller has been a hero of mine for years. Despite threats made against against him and his family - including his children and grandchildren - by so-called "pro-life" activists, despite being shot in both arms by someone who claimed to love and respect life, despite having his clinic bombed, despite having his clinic blockaded, he helped women exercise their legal right to a safe abortion. He did so because he wanted to save women, and was one of very few people who was brave enough to stand up to the thugs impose their religious beliefs on other people. Today he was shot and killed - at his church, no less. I probably shouldn't compare him to Jesus because that will really incense some people, but it's true: Dr. Tiller lost his life so that others could go on with theirs. He died for our sins, more or less.
Many of the women he helped were even against legal abortion. They turned to him because they found out that the fetuses (the medically correct term) they carried were not viable, or that they might die or be maimed in birth. They came to him because they had other kids, family members, and friends they wanted to live for. Dr. Tiller treated everyone with kindness and respect, not judging them for their beliefs and decisions. His office was covered with letters from his patients, thanking him and his dedicated, compassionate staff for the excellent medical they provided that nearly no one else would.
I hope that every woman that Dr. Tiller served will stand up for him. I hope that people who buy into the "pro-life" lie will open their eyes to the fallacy of a movement that only respects the unborn and those who agree with their interpretation of religious texts. I hope that people will stand up for the right of women to live by their own religious beliefs and moral values.
When I got dressed today, I didn't know that Dr. Tiller had been murdered by a "human killer." I put on my NARAL "I [Heart] Pro-Choice NY" t-shirt, and I wore it with pride. I'm going to wear it again tomorrow, with a white armband. I hope that you will, too.
RIP, Dr. Tiller. My heart goes out to your family.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Up (and Back Down)
The new Pixar film Up garnered solid reviews, so when my friend asked if I wanted to catch the flick yesterday, I agreed, even though the theater charged an extra $3 for the fucking 3D glasses. (This is on top of the $1 internet ticket purchase charge, bring the total to $16.50! Man, no free fucking cheesecake here...)
Since every review I read mentioned the four minute silent montage that captures the cycle of a loving marriage made the reviewer cry, I knew that I would cry my eyes out. Two different points turned on my eyeball waterworks, and a third prompted my ducts to get wet. Plus, there were several moments of such hilarious hijinx involving talking dogs, that I practically sobbed with laughter.
All in all, an excellent movie. Perhaps not worth $16.50, but certainly I do not regret shelling out Husband's hard earned cash for it. (He enjoyed it as well, but definitely felt it not worth even the regular $12.50 admission, although he also believes that no movie is worth so much moolah. "Up is going to be a classic," he said. "It was very well constructed.") Although the 3D glasses package specifically says not to wear the glasses as sunglasses (the diagram indicates that a ray from the sun will penetrate one's brain while wearing the glasses), I planned to do so anyway until I realized that all my salt water left spots on the lenses. Foiled again!
Since every review I read mentioned the four minute silent montage that captures the cycle of a loving marriage made the reviewer cry, I knew that I would cry my eyes out. Two different points turned on my eyeball waterworks, and a third prompted my ducts to get wet. Plus, there were several moments of such hilarious hijinx involving talking dogs, that I practically sobbed with laughter.
All in all, an excellent movie. Perhaps not worth $16.50, but certainly I do not regret shelling out Husband's hard earned cash for it. (He enjoyed it as well, but definitely felt it not worth even the regular $12.50 admission, although he also believes that no movie is worth so much moolah. "Up is going to be a classic," he said. "It was very well constructed.") Although the 3D glasses package specifically says not to wear the glasses as sunglasses (the diagram indicates that a ray from the sun will penetrate one's brain while wearing the glasses), I planned to do so anyway until I realized that all my salt water left spots on the lenses. Foiled again!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Free Cheesecake!
"Shavuot* starts tonight," my friend Sara reminded me in an email on Thursday afternoon. "The JCC has a free, all night program (and free cheesecake**) so I'll probably be there for a good chunk of the night/early morning."
"Free cheesecake?!?!" I emailed back. "I am SO there!"
"What about the rest of the schedule? There are at least two programs that you would like, I bet: one on Hannah Arendt and Lucy Dawidowicz, and one on similarities between gospel music and the melodies of traditional Jewish prayers."
"Yeah, those sound good."
I looked up the official event schedule, which ran from 10 pm to 5 am, in accordance with an ancient practice in which people stay up all night at a tikkun (study session). The two sessions Sara proposed ran until 12:15. At 12:30, there were two movies I wanted to see, and a session on "Laughter Yoga." Following that, I was interested in the Alexander Technique workshop. This assumed that I could stay awake that long (which I ultimately decided I could not).
Anyway, I given that this was a free event serving free cheesecake, I should have known that the place would be packed. The line to get into the JCC snaked around the corner when I arrived at 9:50. This made me laugh a lot.
Once I got in, I made a beeline for the food table, only to find it empty. At least Sara happened to be standing there. She explained that the cheesecake would not be broken out until 11:00. My stomach rumbled. (This could have been due to the hunger brought on by the idea of free food or an ominous warning, given what I ate over the course of the rest of the day, to let the free cheesecake go or else.)
Sara and I went to the serious session on Arendt, Dawidowicz, "New York Intellectuals," Yiddish culture, Holocaust interpretation, and everything else under the sun. 40 out of the 60 minutes of the session were fascinating, so I thought that was good. Then it was time for cheesecake. I valiantly fought my way to the tables and grabbed slices for both of us, losing Sara in the process.
We met up again at the gospel session. It was taught by this half-Jewish, half-African American, all awesome woman. Her voice was incredible. When she sang "Wade in the Water" and "Eyes on the Prize," I felt every hair on my arms rise to attention. Unfortunately, she concluded with a group sing-a-long, and I am tone deaf. Still, it was cool singing a spiritual in the JCC, and lots of fun overall.
Now, I make good on my promise to go to bed. As they say, hag sameach!*** May a free cheesecake come your way today.
*Shavuot is holiday celebrating the revelation of the Torah to Moses at Mt. Sinai.
**Basically, no one was kosher before Moses got the laws, so when he came back down, no one could cook meat in their pans because the pans weren't yet made kosher since no kosher law existed until then. So everyone ate dairy products until they got their pans blessed or whatever it is that was required. Hence the cheesecake.
***Happy holiday!
"Free cheesecake?!?!" I emailed back. "I am SO there!"
"What about the rest of the schedule? There are at least two programs that you would like, I bet: one on Hannah Arendt and Lucy Dawidowicz, and one on similarities between gospel music and the melodies of traditional Jewish prayers."
"Yeah, those sound good."
I looked up the official event schedule, which ran from 10 pm to 5 am, in accordance with an ancient practice in which people stay up all night at a tikkun (study session). The two sessions Sara proposed ran until 12:15. At 12:30, there were two movies I wanted to see, and a session on "Laughter Yoga." Following that, I was interested in the Alexander Technique workshop. This assumed that I could stay awake that long (which I ultimately decided I could not).
Anyway, I given that this was a free event serving free cheesecake, I should have known that the place would be packed. The line to get into the JCC snaked around the corner when I arrived at 9:50. This made me laugh a lot.
Once I got in, I made a beeline for the food table, only to find it empty. At least Sara happened to be standing there. She explained that the cheesecake would not be broken out until 11:00. My stomach rumbled. (This could have been due to the hunger brought on by the idea of free food or an ominous warning, given what I ate over the course of the rest of the day, to let the free cheesecake go or else.)
Sara and I went to the serious session on Arendt, Dawidowicz, "New York Intellectuals," Yiddish culture, Holocaust interpretation, and everything else under the sun. 40 out of the 60 minutes of the session were fascinating, so I thought that was good. Then it was time for cheesecake. I valiantly fought my way to the tables and grabbed slices for both of us, losing Sara in the process.
We met up again at the gospel session. It was taught by this half-Jewish, half-African American, all awesome woman. Her voice was incredible. When she sang "Wade in the Water" and "Eyes on the Prize," I felt every hair on my arms rise to attention. Unfortunately, she concluded with a group sing-a-long, and I am tone deaf. Still, it was cool singing a spiritual in the JCC, and lots of fun overall.
Now, I make good on my promise to go to bed. As they say, hag sameach!*** May a free cheesecake come your way today.
*Shavuot is holiday celebrating the revelation of the Torah to Moses at Mt. Sinai.
**Basically, no one was kosher before Moses got the laws, so when he came back down, no one could cook meat in their pans because the pans weren't yet made kosher since no kosher law existed until then. So everyone ate dairy products until they got their pans blessed or whatever it is that was required. Hence the cheesecake.
***Happy holiday!
Doody by the Pound
Whenever I am distressed, I give in to my cravings for sweet and fatty food. Throw in the recent holiday weekend, and the recipe is for overeating disaster. My problem is that eating so poorly tends to make my digestive tract explode. This is uncomfortable and smelly.
After a particularly fetid incident late Monday night, I crawled into bed and told Husband that I just evacuated pounds and pounds of poo.
"Doody by the pound?" he giggled. "That's gross. Especially because when you get it by the pound, the store wraps it up in wax paper and writes what it is on the outside, and everyone in the store knows what you have. It's so embarrassing!"
Damn, I love this man.
After a particularly fetid incident late Monday night, I crawled into bed and told Husband that I just evacuated pounds and pounds of poo.
"Doody by the pound?" he giggled. "That's gross. Especially because when you get it by the pound, the store wraps it up in wax paper and writes what it is on the outside, and everyone in the store knows what you have. It's so embarrassing!"
Damn, I love this man.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Free Hot Dogs
On Sunday, the City of New York shut down traffic in Times Square and created a pedestrian and bike zone. Normally, I hate Times Square (too much traffic of all three kinds) and avoid it at all costs, but Husband and I were curious to see what it was like without motor vehicles, and the weather was gorgeous, so we strolled down to check it out.
Cars and trucks or no cars and trucks, Times Square is a nightmare on a holiday weekend. As we wove our way through the crowds, I noticed a lot of people munching on hot dogs. Eventually, we stumbled upon a man stood on a corner, waiving an aluminum pan in the air, yelling, "Free hot dog! Get your free hot dog!" Hebrew National had set up a slew of tables and served up the foil wrapped dogs. As I watched people eat the juicy wieners nestled appealingly in fluffy buns, my mouth watered.
"You know, 15 years ago, if someone tried to slip me a free hot dog in Times Square, it would've meant something completely different," I told Husband.
Cars and trucks or no cars and trucks, Times Square is a nightmare on a holiday weekend. As we wove our way through the crowds, I noticed a lot of people munching on hot dogs. Eventually, we stumbled upon a man stood on a corner, waiving an aluminum pan in the air, yelling, "Free hot dog! Get your free hot dog!" Hebrew National had set up a slew of tables and served up the foil wrapped dogs. As I watched people eat the juicy wieners nestled appealingly in fluffy buns, my mouth watered.
"You know, 15 years ago, if someone tried to slip me a free hot dog in Times Square, it would've meant something completely different," I told Husband.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sexual Eating
Lately, I can't keep my hands off the tasty treats, thanks to emotional eating. However, it seems that Mars candy company thinks that women eat chocolate to satisfy sexual urges. Their first new product in 20 years is called the Fling, and it is described as a slim chocolate finger that brings guilt-free pleasure to the ladies.
I compare the Fling to Nestle's Yorkie and Cadbury's Mr. Big over at BlogHer. While many temptations cause my "mouth" to "water," not all satisfy my "hunger" equally.
I compare the Fling to Nestle's Yorkie and Cadbury's Mr. Big over at BlogHer. While many temptations cause my "mouth" to "water," not all satisfy my "hunger" equally.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Quandry
It sucks when the right decision is also the wrong one. Leaving my
job was appropriate for many reasons, but it is probably one of the
worst times to be looking for work now. Yesterday a friend mentioned
that the organization she works at received hundreds of applications
for a grant writer job vacancy.
job was appropriate for many reasons, but it is probably one of the
worst times to be looking for work now. Yesterday a friend mentioned
that the organization she works at received hundreds of applications
for a grant writer job vacancy.
"We got a guy with an amazing background who probably would not have
applied under different circumstances," she told me.
Great. I want to use whatever time I have now to write more of what I
hope will be my thesis for school, in case I get a job that isn't
flexible so I will be ahead. However, I'm so worried that I have
writer's block. Bah.
--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com
Thursday, May 21, 2009
School Dance Dream
The buzzing alarm clock cut through the picture unfolding in my head. It interrupted my ascent up a grand staircase dressed in a green knee length silk dress and matching bolero jacket and black satin shoes with chunky two inch heels. The dance was just about to begin.
In only the way a dream can unfold, my friends (I think from New School, but also from my previous graduate program at Columbia) and I were excited for our graduation dance. We spent hours picking out dresses, putting on make-up, and styling our hair. When we got to the dance, I immediately saw my ex-boyfriend from when I was 16. I worried that he would think I was following him, and somehow lost the group of giggling ladies who I accompanied.
Attempting to go in another direction, I headed up the stairs. At that moment, Mayor Bloomberg swept down with his entourage, ready to open the ceremony. It occurred to me that Mayor Bloomberg looked like my ex-boyfriend's unemployed, alcoholic father: short and overconfident. That's when the alarm ended it it all.
Usually I have no idea what sparks my crazy dreams, but I'm pretty sure this one came from two sources. The weather was perfect last night for a long stroll, so I walked home from school. That led me through Times Square, where I saw several groups of high school kids departing from proms in fancy gowns and tuxes. School dance: check. Then when I arrived home, I read an article about how Bloomberg is once again buying an election for himself (last election, he outspent his opponent by 10 to 1), not only through campaign ads, but also by buying off the best Democratic consultants through hiring them to run his campaign. Mayor Bloomberg: check. The ex-boyfriend tends to show up in my dreams when I'm upset about something in general, so that explains that.
The dream, though, made me miss the good old days. I would love to gather up my friends, get dressed up, and go to a school dance. How fun would that be?
In only the way a dream can unfold, my friends (I think from New School, but also from my previous graduate program at Columbia) and I were excited for our graduation dance. We spent hours picking out dresses, putting on make-up, and styling our hair. When we got to the dance, I immediately saw my ex-boyfriend from when I was 16. I worried that he would think I was following him, and somehow lost the group of giggling ladies who I accompanied.
Attempting to go in another direction, I headed up the stairs. At that moment, Mayor Bloomberg swept down with his entourage, ready to open the ceremony. It occurred to me that Mayor Bloomberg looked like my ex-boyfriend's unemployed, alcoholic father: short and overconfident. That's when the alarm ended it it all.
Usually I have no idea what sparks my crazy dreams, but I'm pretty sure this one came from two sources. The weather was perfect last night for a long stroll, so I walked home from school. That led me through Times Square, where I saw several groups of high school kids departing from proms in fancy gowns and tuxes. School dance: check. Then when I arrived home, I read an article about how Bloomberg is once again buying an election for himself (last election, he outspent his opponent by 10 to 1), not only through campaign ads, but also by buying off the best Democratic consultants through hiring them to run his campaign. Mayor Bloomberg: check. The ex-boyfriend tends to show up in my dreams when I'm upset about something in general, so that explains that.
The dream, though, made me miss the good old days. I would love to gather up my friends, get dressed up, and go to a school dance. How fun would that be?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Another Day of Life*
Job hunt. Run errands. Go to gym. Attend to last class of the semester. Coo over adorable baby picture:
Dana, my sister, is on the left, her friend is holding Marcus, and I'm in - er, I mean, on - the right, in my Jody Davis jersey. Heh.
*Also the title of a very interesting book I read this semester by Ryszard Kapuscinski about the civil war that engulfed Angola when the Portuguese withdrew in 1975.
Dana, my sister, is on the left, her friend is holding Marcus, and I'm in - er, I mean, on - the right, in my Jody Davis jersey. Heh.
*Also the title of a very interesting book I read this semester by Ryszard Kapuscinski about the civil war that engulfed Angola when the Portuguese withdrew in 1975.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Finally
Head hit the pillow a little before midnight. Eyes started to close. Maurice (the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain) perked up and set off on a marathon run of worries and neurotic thoughts. Tossing and turning ensued until I gave up and went into the living room so that my worrying at least did not disrupt Husband's slumber.
Still, I received some good news earlier today. While on my way home from visiting my sister and her new baby, my appeal regarding my apartment fix-up project was approved. The Board apparently stopped smoking crack and realized that ripping up the front window and facade so that construction trash could be removed from the apartment made no sense when I live 16 steps from the front door of the building. We can now finally replace the broken, uneven tile that my super installed in our bathroom in January after he tore up the wall to repair a leak. Yay!
And, in a go for the gold moment, the Board approved our request to add a washer and dryer. Hurray! I feel like I hit the big time now - my very own laundry facility.
Still, I received some good news earlier today. While on my way home from visiting my sister and her new baby, my appeal regarding my apartment fix-up project was approved. The Board apparently stopped smoking crack and realized that ripping up the front window and facade so that construction trash could be removed from the apartment made no sense when I live 16 steps from the front door of the building. We can now finally replace the broken, uneven tile that my super installed in our bathroom in January after he tore up the wall to repair a leak. Yay!
And, in a go for the gold moment, the Board approved our request to add a washer and dryer. Hurray! I feel like I hit the big time now - my very own laundry facility.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Tante Goes Home
Since I am no longer gainfully employed, I extended my trip to Iowa by another two nights. If I didn't have my last lit class tomorrow night, I'd stay a few more days. It has been wonderful spending time with my sister and nephew, and I am going to miss them so much. I'm counting down the days until I see tham again at my parents' house in July.
The funny thing about Iowa is that it takes me as long to get here from NYC as it does to go to London or San Francisco, thanks to the lack of direct flights. I'll use the time offered by my layover at O'Hare to ponder the pictures I took this weekend. I decided that Marcus looks like an elf baby, especially with his knitted cap.
The little guy is definitely related to us, though. When he's awake, his cloudy blue eyes hone in on whoever is holding him, passing judgement. He watched me so intently this evening that I nervously explained to him that I'm really an OK person, if he'll give me a chance. Marcus's other big thing is to open one eye, squint like Popeye, and then shut it quickly again, pretending he didn't just scope out the situation and find it lacking. He's a character already.
Yeah, I miss them already, and I'm still on their couch. I'm sure their cats won't miss me, though. They finally will be released from their holding cell (the basement) when we depart for the airport.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
The funny thing about Iowa is that it takes me as long to get here from NYC as it does to go to London or San Francisco, thanks to the lack of direct flights. I'll use the time offered by my layover at O'Hare to ponder the pictures I took this weekend. I decided that Marcus looks like an elf baby, especially with his knitted cap.
The little guy is definitely related to us, though. When he's awake, his cloudy blue eyes hone in on whoever is holding him, passing judgement. He watched me so intently this evening that I nervously explained to him that I'm really an OK person, if he'll give me a chance. Marcus's other big thing is to open one eye, squint like Popeye, and then shut it quickly again, pretending he didn't just scope out the situation and find it lacking. He's a character already.
Yeah, I miss them already, and I'm still on their couch. I'm sure their cats won't miss me, though. They finally will be released from their holding cell (the basement) when we depart for the airport.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Demented baby shower word search
On the way to my sister's baby shower, my mom showed my bubbe a word
search game she printed for the occasion.
search game she printed for the occasion.
"See Ma? There's a clue - 'Baby's first ----,' and then you look in
the grid of letters to find the word and circle it."
"Yeah, I see, I think."
"look, here's one! Baby's first poon - wait! Isn't poon a bad word?"
I cracked up. "If the baby's already getting poon, that's one advanced infant!"
Mom squinted at the word search. "Oh, I meant 'spoon.'"
--
Sent from my mobile device
Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com
Friday, May 15, 2009
Airport Security
While I sit on a plane 20 feet away from the fucking gate, my friend
Rachel and her daughter waiting to scoop me up, counting the minutes
as they tick away from the two hours I have to see them before my
parents pick me up for the drive to Iowa, I thought I would relate the
interesting incident that occured before we left Newark. A man
arrived at his seat, surprised to find someone in it. Turns out that
the seated guy also had that seat - but for a flight leaving FOUR
HOURS LATER. Not sure how his ticket got scanned for boarding, but
that sure makes me feel secure. At least his later flight was also
for Chicago.
Rachel and her daughter waiting to scoop me up, counting the minutes
as they tick away from the two hours I have to see them before my
parents pick me up for the drive to Iowa, I thought I would relate the
interesting incident that occured before we left Newark. A man
arrived at his seat, surprised to find someone in it. Turns out that
the seated guy also had that seat - but for a flight leaving FOUR
HOURS LATER. Not sure how his ticket got scanned for boarding, but
that sure makes me feel secure. At least his later flight was also
for Chicago.
Actually, I was surprised that I was not detained at security. After
my bag went through the xray machine and I stooped to pick it up, I
noticed my new button. It says, "Being a crabby bitch is part of my
charm.". I busted up, apropros of seemingly nothing, looking like a
loon. So maybe the lax security is good.
--
Sent from my mobile device
Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com
No Cush for the Bush?
Sometimes a topic so ripe for mockery just falls into my bushy lap. Yesterday, I stopped rocking back and forth, uncurled myself from the fetal position, and wrote one of the best posts I've cranked out in a while on BlogHer about a product known as "The Cuchini." God help me...
As part of the post, I decided to run a contest:
I am really excited about this contest! I'm sure we can develop something really exciting, and then we'll be rich!
As part of the post, I decided to run a contest:
Granted, I would not want everyone and their pervert uncles seeing my cooter silhouette, either. Of course, my solution is not to wear absurdly tight short shorts. This also helps avoid the dreaded "crotch rot." (Man, I can't wait until someone invents an anti-crotch rot product. I challenge readers to come up with a name for that, and I promise $10 to the best one. Seriously! Leave a comment with your anti-crotch rot product name...)
I am really excited about this contest! I'm sure we can develop something really exciting, and then we'll be rich!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Barring Common Sense
All ground floor apartments in Manhattan have bars over the windows. Some of the bars are built into the window frame on the inside of the apartment, like this:
Others are built into the facade of the building, like the two apartments in this photo:
View Larger Map
I happen to live in a ground floor apartment with outdoor bars, which always makes me wonder what would happen if there was a fire in my building and I couldn't use my door to get out, but that's another story. Today's story is not about a potential fiery death in an inferno, but about stupidity.
Back in January, a leak developed in my building that required the super to rip up my bathroom to fix the plumbing. The damage was poorly repaired, prompting Husband and I to consider a bigger bathroom renovation project. We decided to replace the wall tile and the floor tile, as well as put in a new toilet and sink and spruce up the shower. As long as we were ripping open the wall again, we thought we'd see if we could install a washer and dryer in the hallway closet which has plumbing hook ups in the wall between the closet and bathroom.
We hired a contractor, who drew up a scope of work and submitted the plans for approval to the building management, which first ran it by an architect, who made some suggestions that we agreed to, and then submitted the architect's suggestions to the Board. The Board approved the plans on Monday (yay!), with the following condition: we remove the trash through our window.
Yes, the windows which have bars soldered into the facade. Yes, it is literally 16 steps from my apartment door to the front door of the building. No, it makes no sense that there is less potential to damage the building by ripping cast iron bars out of the facade than walking 16 small steps from my apartment outside.
Excuse me while I curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth while I await my appeal of this insanity.
Others are built into the facade of the building, like the two apartments in this photo:
View Larger Map
I happen to live in a ground floor apartment with outdoor bars, which always makes me wonder what would happen if there was a fire in my building and I couldn't use my door to get out, but that's another story. Today's story is not about a potential fiery death in an inferno, but about stupidity.
Back in January, a leak developed in my building that required the super to rip up my bathroom to fix the plumbing. The damage was poorly repaired, prompting Husband and I to consider a bigger bathroom renovation project. We decided to replace the wall tile and the floor tile, as well as put in a new toilet and sink and spruce up the shower. As long as we were ripping open the wall again, we thought we'd see if we could install a washer and dryer in the hallway closet which has plumbing hook ups in the wall between the closet and bathroom.
We hired a contractor, who drew up a scope of work and submitted the plans for approval to the building management, which first ran it by an architect, who made some suggestions that we agreed to, and then submitted the architect's suggestions to the Board. The Board approved the plans on Monday (yay!), with the following condition: we remove the trash through our window.
Yes, the windows which have bars soldered into the facade. Yes, it is literally 16 steps from my apartment door to the front door of the building. No, it makes no sense that there is less potential to damage the building by ripping cast iron bars out of the facade than walking 16 small steps from my apartment outside.
Excuse me while I curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth while I await my appeal of this insanity.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Stressed Out Tante
Between the unexpected early arrival of my adorable nephew, school wrapping up for the year, and my job implosion, things have been rather hectic lately. While I am very happy that my nephew is here and healthy, the other things thrill me significantly less. I realized that the only thing worse than a job that goes awry is not having a job at all. I sort of figured this out last semester, but it is really hitting home now. I can't say that I like working in general, but I definitely enjoy being employed and feeling like a productive member of society. I forget how closely my sense of self-worth is tied to my work. Bah.
On a more positive note, I just love this picture of me and Marcus:
On Friday, I am flying into Chicago, seeing my friend, her partner, and their kids (an almost four year old and two month old twins), then my parents are picking me for for a roadtrip to Iowa with Bubbe. Fortunately, Dana's friend from high school will also be with us, so I think Bubbe will tone it down a bit.
The reason for the return trip to Iowa? Dana's baby shower is on Saturday, and Marcus will be the guest of honor. I can't wait!
On a more positive note, I just love this picture of me and Marcus:
On Friday, I am flying into Chicago, seeing my friend, her partner, and their kids (an almost four year old and two month old twins), then my parents are picking me for for a roadtrip to Iowa with Bubbe. Fortunately, Dana's friend from high school will also be with us, so I think Bubbe will tone it down a bit.
The reason for the return trip to Iowa? Dana's baby shower is on Saturday, and Marcus will be the guest of honor. I can't wait!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To
I remember very clearly in 1984 worrying about Reagan being re-elected. Although the Gipper managed to fool a large number of working-class families into thinking he was helping them when in reality he was a reverse Robin Hood, my seven year old self knew that bad shit was going down. I was a Democrat through and through.
I survived the past eight years. I was excited to see things change in federal policy. And I am more disappointed than ever. First, the Democrats proved that they like being treated like shit. Lieberman can campaign for fucking McCain, and when his candidate loses, all he has to do is say that he was just kidding and everyone is like, that's cool. Now Arlen Specter changes parties to continue to work against progressive policies, and the Democrats are like, you said you want that conservative psychopath Norm Coleman to win and you joined other shithead Democrats and all the Republicans in voting down fair change in bankruptcy laws so that people with one house get treated the same as people with vacation homes and yachts? That's cool. Welcome to the party.
I am tired of this bullshit. If the Democrats are going to continue to suck the shit out of Republicans assholes and leave me with brown stains on my teeth, I am done. Forget it - that's not cool. I don't think I've ever been so disheartened by the possibilities or lack thereof.
To the caves!!!
I survived the past eight years. I was excited to see things change in federal policy. And I am more disappointed than ever. First, the Democrats proved that they like being treated like shit. Lieberman can campaign for fucking McCain, and when his candidate loses, all he has to do is say that he was just kidding and everyone is like, that's cool. Now Arlen Specter changes parties to continue to work against progressive policies, and the Democrats are like, you said you want that conservative psychopath Norm Coleman to win and you joined other shithead Democrats and all the Republicans in voting down fair change in bankruptcy laws so that people with one house get treated the same as people with vacation homes and yachts? That's cool. Welcome to the party.
I am tired of this bullshit. If the Democrats are going to continue to suck the shit out of Republicans assholes and leave me with brown stains on my teeth, I am done. Forget it - that's not cool. I don't think I've ever been so disheartened by the possibilities or lack thereof.
To the caves!!!
Friday, May 8, 2009
It Only Looks Alarming
"I need to burp Marcus," Dana said before she did this:
I had no idea that burping a newborn looked like you were strangling it. "Wow, I hope that the child welfare authorities never see you do this," I exclaimed.
Although it does look like he is being murdered, and the picture is blurry, I sort of like it because you can really see his little face and how much he looks like my sister.
And that's it for the baby pictures for now.
I had no idea that burping a newborn looked like you were strangling it. "Wow, I hope that the child welfare authorities never see you do this," I exclaimed.
Although it does look like he is being murdered, and the picture is blurry, I sort of like it because you can really see his little face and how much he looks like my sister.
And that's it for the baby pictures for now.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Snip the Tip
Yes, it is time for the inevitable circumcision post. Despite the lovely cross that decorates the wall behind me and my brother-in-law in the photo I posted previously, we will continue the ancient ways of our Jewish heritage. Yesterday was eight days after Marcus arrived in the world, and thus his covenant with God was made, albeit at the doctor's office with a regular rabbi saying a blessing. There are not to many mohels wandering around Iowa, and thank goodness even fewer with these weird plush moyel scissors.
Happily, the procedure went off without a hitch. The doctor told Dana she could give Marcus some infant Tylenol if he seemed to be in pain, but she said he slept sounder last night than he had since he came home on Monday. I'm not sure what that indicates, but I'm glad all is well.
However, for a more disturbing circumcision story, let's go back in time. While I was in Iowa over the weekend, the rabbi visited my family in the hospital and gave the new parents a book on raising a Jewish baby. I began reading it, and was fascinated by the story about how Moses's son came to be relieved of his foreskin.
Basically, the father is supposed to do the job, but Moses was too busy leading his people around the desert, and forgot. Zipporah, the baby's mother, then took matters into her own hands. Using a flint knife (the tool of ye olden days), she sawed off the kid's foreskin. The baby was fine (or as fine as a baby can be after being cut up by a flint), but the book reported that Zipporah was supremely pissed that she had to see to this task herself. (I see her point: if she's gotta birth the damn thing, the least Moses can do is circumcise it - she's already traumatized enough.) So she went up to Moses, and bitterly flung the foreskin in his face.
Now that is the way to end both a circumcision and a story.
Happily, the procedure went off without a hitch. The doctor told Dana she could give Marcus some infant Tylenol if he seemed to be in pain, but she said he slept sounder last night than he had since he came home on Monday. I'm not sure what that indicates, but I'm glad all is well.
However, for a more disturbing circumcision story, let's go back in time. While I was in Iowa over the weekend, the rabbi visited my family in the hospital and gave the new parents a book on raising a Jewish baby. I began reading it, and was fascinated by the story about how Moses's son came to be relieved of his foreskin.
Basically, the father is supposed to do the job, but Moses was too busy leading his people around the desert, and forgot. Zipporah, the baby's mother, then took matters into her own hands. Using a flint knife (the tool of ye olden days), she sawed off the kid's foreskin. The baby was fine (or as fine as a baby can be after being cut up by a flint), but the book reported that Zipporah was supremely pissed that she had to see to this task herself. (I see her point: if she's gotta birth the damn thing, the least Moses can do is circumcise it - she's already traumatized enough.) So she went up to Moses, and bitterly flung the foreskin in his face.
Now that is the way to end both a circumcision and a story.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Adoration and Resignation
Unexpectedly, I have an additional 35 hours a week that are now free since I left my job this week. (it wasn't a good fit for a variety of reasons.) The good news is that I already have an interview elsewhere on Monday, and I can use the time to fawn over photos of my nephew* now that I found our camera.
Here I am, the proud but exhausted tante (I only had a few hours of sleep the prior night), holding my nephew with the excited father behind me:
The happy grandparents holding their progeny's offspring:
Since Marcus was not due until June 9, my sister's co-workers had planned to hold a baby shower for her on May 16. Now Marcus will be the guest of honor! I already bought a plane ticket for the event, so I am pleased that I will get to see everyone again in less than two weeks. Of course, that assumes that I survive the four hour car ride from Chicago to Iowa with my parents and Bubbe. I think Bubbe will be on her best behavior, though, since my sister's friend will also be in the car with us.
Here I am, the proud but exhausted tante (I only had a few hours of sleep the prior night), holding my nephew with the excited father behind me:
The happy grandparents holding their progeny's offspring:
Since Marcus was not due until June 9, my sister's co-workers had planned to hold a baby shower for her on May 16. Now Marcus will be the guest of honor! I already bought a plane ticket for the event, so I am pleased that I will get to see everyone again in less than two weeks. Of course, that assumes that I survive the four hour car ride from Chicago to Iowa with my parents and Bubbe. I think Bubbe will be on her best behavior, though, since my sister's friend will also be in the car with us.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Poked by the Doody Finger of Fretfulness
My adorable little alien nephew* finally proved that he is a member of our family when he took his third extremely nasty shit. (Fortunately, I missed Nasty Shit #2, and as I reported yesterday, was peed on during Nasty Shit #1.) As I helped clean up the squirmy, screaming kid, doody got on one of my fingers. I knew that I loved the goober because I didn't mind at all that he managed to smear poo on me; I found it oddly endearing.
Other than Marcus's arrival in the world, things have been extra special stressful lately. I feel like the Doody Finger of Fretfulness poked me in the eye. Seriously, my right eye is punishing me for something. It is super allergy angry, and my contact gets blurry and dry at the same time. My glasses are very nice, but the last time I had the prescription updated was 1999 since I just wear them around the house at night, so I don't see so well out of them, either.
Our bathroom is still not fucking fixed. The person from the management company neglected to respond to my last email about what the status is. Things are going on in my professional life that keep me awake at night with anxiety. (Worse, the anxiety leads me to pick my cuticles, which then got baby doody on them...) School, which I love right now, is ending in three weeks.
I guess things could always be worse - the Doody Finger of Fretfulness could have poked me in both eyes...
*I swear, photos to come. I need to be sleeping now but am waiting for some stupid USB port to format, so I thought I'd blog a bit, but can't find the camera.
Other than Marcus's arrival in the world, things have been extra special stressful lately. I feel like the Doody Finger of Fretfulness poked me in the eye. Seriously, my right eye is punishing me for something. It is super allergy angry, and my contact gets blurry and dry at the same time. My glasses are very nice, but the last time I had the prescription updated was 1999 since I just wear them around the house at night, so I don't see so well out of them, either.
Our bathroom is still not fucking fixed. The person from the management company neglected to respond to my last email about what the status is. Things are going on in my professional life that keep me awake at night with anxiety. (Worse, the anxiety leads me to pick my cuticles, which then got baby doody on them...) School, which I love right now, is ending in three weeks.
I guess things could always be worse - the Doody Finger of Fretfulness could have poked me in both eyes...
*I swear, photos to come. I need to be sleeping now but am waiting for some stupid USB port to format, so I thought I'd blog a bit, but can't find the camera.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Tante Suzanne Gets Baptised
Yesterday I flew to Iowa City to see my sister and meet my new nephew. He's very sweet. We hung around the hospital all day, enjoying the little alien.
This morning, the hospital decided that he was jaundiced, so he had to stay under the infant tanning light. He emerges to be fed, then goes back to the nursery for the UV light. Husband and I thus spent the day buying crap for the new parents and then Husband built it all.
I came to the hospital for Marcus's early evening feeding. He didn't seem to interested in eating, then Dana and I noticed a very baaaad smell. "I think he made a big shit," I said and peeked into his diaper to verify. "Oh yeah.."
My sister and I held Marcus's legs and swabbed his dirty butt while my mom handed us wipes. As I reached out for a new cloth, something wet and warm hit my hand: a yellow arc streamed from Marcus. The piss hit Dana's shoulder. I feel like we passed an important milestone.
(Oh, and tante is Yiddish for aunt, and I decided that I'd like to use mama loshen.)
This morning, the hospital decided that he was jaundiced, so he had to stay under the infant tanning light. He emerges to be fed, then goes back to the nursery for the UV light. Husband and I thus spent the day buying crap for the new parents and then Husband built it all.
I came to the hospital for Marcus's early evening feeding. He didn't seem to interested in eating, then Dana and I noticed a very baaaad smell. "I think he made a big shit," I said and peeked into his diaper to verify. "Oh yeah.."
My sister and I held Marcus's legs and swabbed his dirty butt while my mom handed us wipes. As I reached out for a new cloth, something wet and warm hit my hand: a yellow arc streamed from Marcus. The piss hit Dana's shoulder. I feel like we passed an important milestone.
(Oh, and tante is Yiddish for aunt, and I decided that I'd like to use mama loshen.)
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