For a variety of reasons, I recommed not holding a bris on a very cold day in Chicago. (Insert your own immature shrinkage joke here.) My personal bias against frosty bris events is that I will have to drive to them. Since I don't normally drive, I will forget that cold weather means that ice forms on windshields. Then I will be 10 minutes late to the bris because I didn't budget enough time to scrape the windshield clear.
When I finally did arrive at my friend's parents' apartment for the bris, there was a little sign on the door telling people to leave shoes and boots in the hall. As I removed my non-snow appropriate leather boots, I heard the baby crying. "Shit," I thought. "I'm missing the first bris I was ever invited to." I knocked on the door and discovered that the ceremony was just starting, but no cutting was yet happening. The baby was just crying for no reason. Or maybe it was because he saw the contraption that babies get strapped into for the procedure. I'd cry, too.
Since I arrive late, I hovered in the doorway behind the table that the circumcision was being performed on. The mohl (a rabbi who specializes in foreskin removal, which I possibly spelled wrong) took the baby's pants off. His little socks came off at the the same time, and the mohl put them back on, explaining that he didn't want the baby's feet to be exposed and cold. We all shared a hearty laugh. Then the baby was strapped into the stabilizing contraption. He didn't like this and began crying. More things that I could not see took place, although at one point I noticed a clamp thing. If I had a penis, I'd probably cross my legs at that point. The baby's crying never intensified, so I was surprised when he was declared kosher (not the mohl's words) a few seconds later. Grandpa gave baby a wine soaked cloth to suck on, and soon the kid was peacefully asleep. Happy words were spoken by a non-mohl lady rabbi, the guests sang a happy song in Hebrew which I knew half the words to (they also sing it at the end of Jewish wedding ceremonies), and then the eating commenced.
After hanging around for a while, I left the bris and headed over to Granny's. Since she usually keeps the temperature in her house somewhere in the 80s so that she can hang around in her "diaphonous dusters" (as my mom described them) with no undies on, I brought a t-shirt to change into. I was quite surprised when she answered the door fully clad in a sweatshirt and pants. "I turned the heat down a bit so you wouldn't be too hot," Granny explained as I hugged her. (When I told this to my mom later, she said that I must be my Granny's favorite person in the world, as she turns the heat down and dresses for nobody.)
We had a very pleasant visit, except for when I found out that she leases three telephones from AT&T for $27 a month. The woman struggles with money, and she's throwing away over $300 a year on phone rentals?!?! I felt like she was a victim of elder abuse (who else fucking rents phones?), and made her promise me that she would cancel the lease and return the phones if I bought her ones. Sigh. Then I ate too much chocolate, which was left over from the stash we brought her back from our August 2005 trip to Israel. Although it expired in June 2006, it was still delicious.
Tomorrow morning, I plan to share a fashion epiphany that struck me last night as I was dozing off. (Not long after that, I decided that I needed a snack and nearly died in the kitchen, where I swear my feet froze to the floor, but I digress.) In the afternoon, I'm taking Bubbe to lunch and then to return a down coat that she bought a few weeks ago, which she insists all the feathers came out of after only two wears. (I believe this based on my own coat.) I also hope to pick up a new pair of Dansko clogs. Then I'm going to see my friends Rachel and Jenny for dinner. Sadly, Sister and Sister's Husband will not be coming in from Iowa, as it is supposed to snow like a mad motherfucker. Bah.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Suzanne, the Snowperson
Motherfucker, it is cold in Chicago. In fact, I'm not a snowperson, although there is snow all over the place. (Apparantly, it snowed about 6-9 inches yesterday and last night. Somehow I missed this and neglected to bring snow boots. Sigh.) It is so damn cold here that I am an icicle person. Now my outside matches my cold heart. Ha! I kid. But seriously, folks, it's damn cold.
Tomorrow is a jam-packed day, so I suspect that I will not be able to blog until later at night. In addition to bringing you a detailed report of the first bris I am attending in my 31 11/12th years, I will also carry the humanism/feminism conversation over to BlogHer. Does the excitement never end? I thought not.
Tomorrow is a jam-packed day, so I suspect that I will not be able to blog until later at night. In addition to bringing you a detailed report of the first bris I am attending in my 31 11/12th years, I will also carry the humanism/feminism conversation over to BlogHer. Does the excitement never end? I thought not.
I Mugged You and Now I'm Fleeing Town
For those of you who responded to my NaBloPoMo post on Nov. 30, I sent you a mug.* Instead of watching your pocket, keep an eye on the mail for it. I mugged some of you for your birthday, others for the holidays, and everyone else in some sort of pathetic attempt to reward/bribe people to be my friend and read my blog. So sue me.
I'm heading to my parents' house this afternoon, although I expect massive weather-related delays and general chaos at the airport. My time at home will be spent: shopping for a treadmill to replace th one ruined when my parents' basement flooded in August; attending a bris (my first - expect a good post on that one!); hanging out with Granny; shopping for new clogs with Bubbe; dining with my friends Rachel and Jenny; and generally spending time with my parents, sister, and brother-in-law. Plans also call for an updated picture of me in that hideous white peasant blouse that I wore all the time in 1994. While I was at the gym yesterday, I also decided it would be fun to re-read the stories I wrote when I was in 5th grade and post the best one(s) on CUSS.
Yes, stay tuned for lots of unshaved excitement.
*Country Mouse: If you would like one, please email me and let me know where I can send it.
I'm heading to my parents' house this afternoon, although I expect massive weather-related delays and general chaos at the airport. My time at home will be spent: shopping for a treadmill to replace th one ruined when my parents' basement flooded in August; attending a bris (my first - expect a good post on that one!); hanging out with Granny; shopping for new clogs with Bubbe; dining with my friends Rachel and Jenny; and generally spending time with my parents, sister, and brother-in-law. Plans also call for an updated picture of me in that hideous white peasant blouse that I wore all the time in 1994. While I was at the gym yesterday, I also decided it would be fun to re-read the stories I wrote when I was in 5th grade and post the best one(s) on CUSS.
Yes, stay tuned for lots of unshaved excitement.
*Country Mouse: If you would like one, please email me and let me know where I can send it.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Come Light the Menorah
Hanukkah begins tonight at sundown. Over the last few years, Husband and I have become less and less interested in Hanukkah. We managed to get each other one small gift this year. I hope he will like the $10 glass Mets mug that I picked up last week. I have no idea what he is giving me. I'm sure it will be far more clever than a $10 glass Mets mug.
Husband and I may not be taking the religiously insignificant holiday of Hanukkah seriously enough for the likes of the Holiday Sales Industry. Cartier, Macy's, Lord & Taylor, Bloomingdale's, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Barney's all have ads on pages 2,3, and 5 of today's New York Times wishing me a Happy Chanukah. They all spelled it "Chanukah," too, which makes me wonder if the Times issued some sort of guidelines for luxury good purveyors who wanted to sell me shit. Macy's, Lord & Taylor, and Bloomingdale's went an extra step and wrote little Chanukah poems and greetings. The sentiments bring a fucking tear to my eye, I tell you. Tiffany's has an ad, but it doesn't wish me anything. Instead, it reads, "'Tis the Tiffany Season," and depicts a "dreidel in sterling silver, 3" high, $200."
After seeing all the ads, I realized that I never again need bother look up when a gift-giving holiday officially begins. (Last night Husband and I debated whether Hanukkah kicked off tonight or tomorrow night, and I googled it.) From now on, I'll just look at the ads in the paper and go from there. None of the department stores or jewelers would let me forget an important religious occasion, would they? How thoughtful of them.
Husband and I may not be taking the religiously insignificant holiday of Hanukkah seriously enough for the likes of the Holiday Sales Industry. Cartier, Macy's, Lord & Taylor, Bloomingdale's, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Barney's all have ads on pages 2,3, and 5 of today's New York Times wishing me a Happy Chanukah. They all spelled it "Chanukah," too, which makes me wonder if the Times issued some sort of guidelines for luxury good purveyors who wanted to sell me shit. Macy's, Lord & Taylor, and Bloomingdale's went an extra step and wrote little Chanukah poems and greetings. The sentiments bring a fucking tear to my eye, I tell you. Tiffany's has an ad, but it doesn't wish me anything. Instead, it reads, "'Tis the Tiffany Season," and depicts a "dreidel in sterling silver, 3" high, $200."
After seeing all the ads, I realized that I never again need bother look up when a gift-giving holiday officially begins. (Last night Husband and I debated whether Hanukkah kicked off tonight or tomorrow night, and I googled it.) From now on, I'll just look at the ads in the paper and go from there. None of the department stores or jewelers would let me forget an important religious occasion, would they? How thoughtful of them.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Husband the Humanist and the Radical Notion that Woman are People
One of the many reasons I love Husband is that we have a variety of interesting conversations. Sometimes they are about farting. Other times they are about work, friends, family, and/or whatever is happening in our lives. Many times we discuss sports and politics. Once in awhile, we debate philosophical differences.*
Yesterday I wrote on BlogHer about the case of a woman in Saudi Arabia who was gang raped by seven men. Her husband bravely encouraged her to press charges (which led her brother to try and kill her) and while the men were convicted and sentenced to prison, the woman was also sentenced to 90 lashes for going out in public with a man who was not her legal guardian. Her lawyer, a famous human rights advocate, fairly protested that it is absurd and wrong to punish a woman who was gang raped. World attention and pressure ensued. The authorities responded by increasing her punishment to 200 lashes and six months in prison, claiming that she confessed to having an affair. More outrage from the civilized world thus far has not made any difference.
After I wrote the essay, I was depressed. Somehow this led Husband and I to discuss the difference between feminism and humanism. If feminism is, at root, a belief that women and men deserve equal human rights (which is how I define feminism), how is that different from humanism, which is essentially that all people have basic human rights? Husband felt that because feminism (by necessity) primarily focuses on the rights of women, it is easily manipulated by conservatives and right-wing lunatics into a movement that tries to put women above men. Thus we get a lot of bad publicity and all manner of people saying things like, "I'm not a feminist, but I believe that women and men are equal." For example, a humanist will point out that domestic violence is wrong. A feminist will note that, according to the Family Violence Prevention Fund, 85% of victims of intimate partner violence are women and 15% of victims are men. As a result, feminists focus on women first and demand that the resources proportionally go to women victims. It's not that we dismiss violence against men, its just that we look at the history of violence against partners and statistics and demand that women get help in proportion to the situation. Some (like Husband the Humanist) would say that because there are not enough resources to go around, insisting that women get priority denies male victims, who are even further stigmatized by partner violence than women because they fail to meet masculine stereotypes of being strong, the resources they need, and thus does not treat men and women equally.
It's an interesting discussion. What do you think?**
*Many times these discussions end with me shouting, but not always.
**And if you write about this on your blogs, put a link in the comments, because I'd like to explore this humanism-feminism topic more in depth at BlogHer on Thursday.
Yesterday I wrote on BlogHer about the case of a woman in Saudi Arabia who was gang raped by seven men. Her husband bravely encouraged her to press charges (which led her brother to try and kill her) and while the men were convicted and sentenced to prison, the woman was also sentenced to 90 lashes for going out in public with a man who was not her legal guardian. Her lawyer, a famous human rights advocate, fairly protested that it is absurd and wrong to punish a woman who was gang raped. World attention and pressure ensued. The authorities responded by increasing her punishment to 200 lashes and six months in prison, claiming that she confessed to having an affair. More outrage from the civilized world thus far has not made any difference.
After I wrote the essay, I was depressed. Somehow this led Husband and I to discuss the difference between feminism and humanism. If feminism is, at root, a belief that women and men deserve equal human rights (which is how I define feminism), how is that different from humanism, which is essentially that all people have basic human rights? Husband felt that because feminism (by necessity) primarily focuses on the rights of women, it is easily manipulated by conservatives and right-wing lunatics into a movement that tries to put women above men. Thus we get a lot of bad publicity and all manner of people saying things like, "I'm not a feminist, but I believe that women and men are equal." For example, a humanist will point out that domestic violence is wrong. A feminist will note that, according to the Family Violence Prevention Fund, 85% of victims of intimate partner violence are women and 15% of victims are men. As a result, feminists focus on women first and demand that the resources proportionally go to women victims. It's not that we dismiss violence against men, its just that we look at the history of violence against partners and statistics and demand that women get help in proportion to the situation. Some (like Husband the Humanist) would say that because there are not enough resources to go around, insisting that women get priority denies male victims, who are even further stigmatized by partner violence than women because they fail to meet masculine stereotypes of being strong, the resources they need, and thus does not treat men and women equally.
It's an interesting discussion. What do you think?**
*Many times these discussions end with me shouting, but not always.
**And if you write about this on your blogs, put a link in the comments, because I'd like to explore this humanism-feminism topic more in depth at BlogHer on Thursday.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
A Taxing Situation
Someone's gotta pay for the Iraq War, and it sure as hell isn't going to be the uber-wealthy. Instead, they get special tax cuts for being so special. I mean, everyone knows that God shows His favorites by making them rich, so it would just be totally wrong to make them pay for God's blessings. It would be punishing them for things that weren't their fault, you know?
The working poor can only pay through indirect means, like cutting programs that help them make ends meet. Check. Still, we need more money to pay for the Goldy tax cuts and Iraq War. OK, squeezing the middle class will shake out a few more pennies. Who does that leave? Oh, the self-employed! Yay!
Seriously, I don't mind paying my fair share in taxes. As a person who has seen the benefits of an excellent public education, tax write-offs on owning a home, and other general good fortune, I believe it is my responsibility to support the same opportunities for other people. My commitment extends, however, to all classes. It strikes me as insanely unfair that I am for some reason paying a higher share of my earnings than people who made 10 or even 100 times more than I did. Last night I calculated how much I managed to eke out this year (and was impressed that my high priced consulting gigs yielded about 30G! Go me!) and then Husband informed me that 60% of that is going to taxes because of FICA.*
I understand that people like Paris Hilton need their hard earned money in ways that I don't, and that their valuable contributions to society's entertainment via porn tapes leaked to the internet completely dwarf anything I might be doing. But is it not a little fucked up that their tax rate is about half of mine? I guess I'll need to screw some little people over so that I may earn God's favor and exempt myself from taxes. Better luck to us all next year.
*Our income disparity does not help my situation. Hello, marriage tax penalty, which gives me a double whammy!
The working poor can only pay through indirect means, like cutting programs that help them make ends meet. Check. Still, we need more money to pay for the Goldy tax cuts and Iraq War. OK, squeezing the middle class will shake out a few more pennies. Who does that leave? Oh, the self-employed! Yay!
Seriously, I don't mind paying my fair share in taxes. As a person who has seen the benefits of an excellent public education, tax write-offs on owning a home, and other general good fortune, I believe it is my responsibility to support the same opportunities for other people. My commitment extends, however, to all classes. It strikes me as insanely unfair that I am for some reason paying a higher share of my earnings than people who made 10 or even 100 times more than I did. Last night I calculated how much I managed to eke out this year (and was impressed that my high priced consulting gigs yielded about 30G! Go me!) and then Husband informed me that 60% of that is going to taxes because of FICA.*
I understand that people like Paris Hilton need their hard earned money in ways that I don't, and that their valuable contributions to society's entertainment via porn tapes leaked to the internet completely dwarf anything I might be doing. But is it not a little fucked up that their tax rate is about half of mine? I guess I'll need to screw some little people over so that I may earn God's favor and exempt myself from taxes. Better luck to us all next year.
*Our income disparity does not help my situation. Hello, marriage tax penalty, which gives me a double whammy!
Saturday, December 1, 2007
1994: The Year of Hair
Damn. My friend from high school recently posted this photo of me in his Facebook album. I think this was taken in 1994 somewhere in suburban Chicago.
Those sunglasses were my mom's from the 1970s. (One of the lenses cracked or I'd probably still use them today. They rock!) Today I'm about 30 pounds less than I was when I was 18, and now that I look at this shot, I think about half of that weight came off when I cut my hair. (I do miss those long, long pigtails.) Another 6 or so pounds came off when I had my breast reduction. That surgery resulted in my shoulders looking about half as broad as they did back then. Craziness.
Those sunglasses were my mom's from the 1970s. (One of the lenses cracked or I'd probably still use them today. They rock!) Today I'm about 30 pounds less than I was when I was 18, and now that I look at this shot, I think about half of that weight came off when I cut my hair. (I do miss those long, long pigtails.) Another 6 or so pounds came off when I had my breast reduction. That surgery resulted in my shoulders looking about half as broad as they did back then. Craziness.
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