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.)