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...