Tuesday, September 16, 2003
ADOPTATION
My husband and I had our first appointment today at the adoption agency, and I feel like the clouds are starting to part. I wonder how much of my latest three-month funk had to do with my absolute rage at not being able to have children biologically. I had thought my frustration was all about money, but I'm not so sure any more. In fact, it's during the past three months that I believe I've stopped ovulating entirely. (I won't get graphic, but the mid-cycle signs are pretty distinct--and simply haven't been there. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about.) Game over.
To add insult to injury, the adoption process is, on the face of it, pretty degrading. Teenage girls are encouraged to keep their kids if they deliver them--but people in their forties (with jobs, houses, a few decades more of maturity and a network of retired grandparents and other family help) have to fill out paperwork and say "Mother, may I?" and "pretty please" and somehow prove their worth as parents before the state will certify them as fit. There are the invasive questionnaires, and the stupid questions, and the "home visits." We were just handed today--and I tremble with rage to write this--a piece of paper that has on it spaces for a list of emergency contacts to put by the phone: pediatrician, sheriff, fire department and the like. The idea is, we fill the top copy out, and then the bottom copy goes to the fucking agency. So they can establish that we have emergency phone numbers by the fucking phone. Because we don't, of course, have the fucking sense to do this by ourselves.
I am supposed to send a form to my former doctor, the one who performed my various "infertility treatments" (three rounds of in-vitro fertilization). He is supposed to tell them what he did to me, and what the results were. I politely enquired what the purpose was of that, and was told that giving up on infertility treatments represents a sort of loss, and they need to be sure the adoptive couple has grieved this loss. I bite my tongue so as not to ask what the hell the procedures themselves have to do with whether I've processed them emotionally or not. But then the social worker relents and admits in a backhanded way that he doesn't necessarily agree with their asking for this level of detail.
I agree that most or all of this is necessary, that it has to be done. But how many of you who had children biologically were required by law to take 12 hours of parenting classes, in addition to infant CPR? Come on, you can tell Aunt Attila: you just took the infant CPR, read a few books, and called it a day, right? We can't. The state cannot trust us to research this on our own. It has to supervise us. It has to hover.
So there's all that. You go through the rather infuriating process of trying to have children naturally. If you are a real ass about it, you go to the Catholic Church's classes on natural family planning, to learn about tracking your cycle and trying to optimize the chances of conceiving. (For a year, I was getting phone calls from the well-meaning teacher, who would suggest nutritional supplements and relaxation techniques to help me conceive. I finally had to tell her as gently as possible to stop calling: it just hurt too much.) Then when you finally ask the OB-GYN for help, it turns out that all this "conceive naturally" business was a waste of time. Then there's that year of in-vitro treatments, shooting yourself up with several drugs a day and undergoing invasive procedures. Getting moody from the hormones and having to take prenatal vitamins "just in case." And all the negative tests that are just heartbreaking. Not to mention all that lost money.
On top of that, there is the adoption process. Form after fucking form. Interview after interview. And another small fortune in fees.
And suddenly it begins to look, for the first time in a long time, like you might be able to be a parent after all. And maybe it will be the great experience you thought it would. Maybe you'll be up to the task. Maybe you'll even be good at it.
And if that happens, and my husband and I have a daughter or son who can live with us and laugh at our jokes and understand how fallible-but-terrific we really are, and learn what we have to teach them, it will all have been worthwhile.
We will be good at this. I believe that. I finally remember that I believed it all along.
9/16/2003 11:57:00 PM
MOCK THE VOTE
As far as the New Blog Showcase is concerned, I have to vote for this one from Darren Kaplan: it's a pretty compelling account of the day after 9/11. (His story of the day itself is spooky, too. He works in NYC, so it's all up close and personal.)
9/16/2003 11:41:00 PM
Monday, September 15, 2003
THE NINTH CIRCUIT . . .
is not, apparently, tired of having its rulings overturned by the Supremes. Now they will probably have to step in on this silly "no recall quite yet" decision. Next thing you know, all the tiresome conspiracy theorists and Dem-party hacks will come out of the woodwork and start yammering about the Thwarting of Democracy Through Holding an Election.
Which, if you think about it, should be an interesting little act to watch.
9/15/2003 11:07:00 PM
I GIVE
For those of you who have criticized me for my stance on California Driver's Licenses for "illegals," I do acknowledge that the big problem here is security: there are plenty of non-Latins coming up from our Southern border (and a few from Canada as well)--some from the Middle East, a region with which we've, uh, had a problem or two. So this is a concern. But I'm afraid I ultimately see the solution as some sort of "work permit" program, wherein we let people come up here, but screen them first and keep information about them on file. As opposed to the system we have now, wherein cheap labor is essential to the working of our economy, but we pretend it is not.
I'll read Michelle Malkin's book, but do not expect me to see the light after having done so.
9/15/2003 10:37:00 PM
LIES, DAMNED LIES, AND STORIES ABOUT GLENN REYNOLDS, AKA THE GREAT WHITE BLOGGER
With a great sigh, I have decided that the research involved in coming up with a Filthy Lie about White Glenn is simply too great. I don't have the time to find out what others have fabricated about him.
So I'm settling for a Filthily False Quote, and hope my fellow Alliance members will understand.
9/15/2003 10:26:00 PM
TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE?
Rumor has it that the Alliance is kicking me off for not writing a Filthy Lie about White Glenn, and not displaying our icon. Problem is, to display the icon I need it in html format--not as an actual image. My format in Blogspot is sooooo restrictive.
Anyway, N.Z. Bear is trying to figure out what side of the comb his honey is on: he's been comparing links from the Axis of Naughty and White Glenn to those we provide. So, it's off to the showcase for me, and this nice young man:
Q & O
The entry title is supposedly Postwar Iraq is (Gasp) Difficult. And I didn't happen to see it there. But do browse through his entries, lingering in particular on the Geneva Convention for Bloggers.
Give him a try; he's funny. Despite the Blogspot problems.
9/15/2003 01:05:00 AM
Sunday, September 14, 2003
VANITY, PRESSED
I love ego surfing; I like finding out who's linked to me and who's just added me to their blogrolls. I like the fact that I can miss posting for a few days due to temporary employment or other catastrophe and people seem to still "drop by" my site.
I only check referrals and the stats themselves, so I'm not always sure whether any particular blogger came here himself/herself, or sent someone else along. And it doesn't matter.
But what I really dig* is when I follow the link back on my referral log to find that another blogger visited me after finding me on his/her own referral list. It's like the chapter in Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass when Alice comes across the Red King, asleep. Tweedledum and Tweedledee inform her that he's dreaming about her. They also tell her she doesn't really exist, that she's only something in the Red King's mind.
Alice is upset by this--as anyone would be. (I know I am. Would the person in whose novel I reside please try to understand? How would you feel if you suddenly found out you were a fictional character, being written about by neurotic English majors in their wordy papers?)
Martin Gardner, writing in The Annotated Alice, points out that the Red King/Alice chain goes on to infinity: the Red King is dreaming about Alice, who is dreaming about the Red King, and so on. It is, he writes, "like a hall of mirrors."
So ultimately there will be no need to blog in order for us to get traffic. We can spend all our time simply spying on each other and following the links back to each other's sites--creating a sort of perpetual-motion machine.
Quite the labor-saver, huh?
I'll go first: no more blogging for me, Boys and Girls.
* I was born in 1962, and am therefore (barely) old enough to use the word "dig" in this way. Don't try this at home.
9/14/2003 04:20:00 PM
Saturday, September 13, 2003
TELL ME, PLEASE
I'm as conservative as the next girl, but I just don't tend to understand all the hysteria about driver's licenses for "illegals." It seems to me that from a law enforcement perspective, it's better to have a thumbprint on record than not to. How does it hurt to have more information on record?
It does bother me a little that Latin American immigrants (and other brunettes who can fake a Spanish accent) will be able to get additional IDs and I will not. After all, you never know when the crazy gun-control nuts will have their way and implement a gun-registration scheme (always a precursor to a gun-confiscation scheme). It would be lovely to get an alternate ID and purchase a few "off the grid" firearms. Oh, well. Maybe a dark-haired friend will help me out, here.
Seriously, boys and girls: if you were born in Mexico or Guatemala and wanted a better life for your family, wouldn't you consider coming up here to get a better job, at least for a while?
As for those of you who complain so bitterly about the presence of illegal aliens--I assume you're willing to wash cars, clean houses, pick crops and perform childcare on the weekends to keep the state's economy going . . .? No? Not willing to put your free time where your mouth is?
And then there is the issue of how expensive produce would be if we didn't have cheap labor. This doesn't just apply to California: we grow food for the rest of the nation.
Answer those questions, and then come back and complain to me. I'll be willing to listen to you then. Because then I will know that you're for real, and not just operating out of prejudice against Latinos. (I know plenty of you aren't--but so many are. I hear it every day on talk radio. It's real.)
P.S. No, I don't yet have anything to say about the anniversary of 9/11. It's too big a subject for me to just toss off a post about it. But I will tackle it someday soon. Light a candle, say a prayer. Support the president.
9/13/2003 01:21:00 AM
Monday, September 08, 2003
ALMOST THERE, BABY
Just 4-12 hours of cramps, and then the happy hormones will come back. My mind will begin functioning again (as something more than an echo chamber of negativity and paranoia), and my husband will have his wife back.
Hooray for estrogen; as far as I'm concerned, they can put that shit in the drinking water. I'd be a happy camper.
9/08/2003 06:15:00 PM
YES! IT'S ANOTHER ONE!
Apparently my worst fears can be confirmed:
My inner child is six years old!
Look what I can do! I can walk, I can run, I can
read! I like to do stuff, and there's a whole
big world out there to do it in. Just so long
as I can take my blankie and my Mommy and my
three best friends with me, of course.
How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla
And they don't let six-year-olds play with guns or model trains. It's a serious bummer in some ways. But when we play with our dolls, "I call the shots, Baby. I say when. I say when."
UPDATE: I had to add quotation marks in the paragraph above so people would know where I stop and Lene Lovich begins. It's so sad that I should have to do that. (Next time you get me confused with Lene Lovich, remember that she is the normal one between the two of us. This should scare you.)
UPDATE #2: Dang, dang, dang! I forgot to give wonderful Kelley her link for the quiz! Second time in, like, a week that I've forgotten (or been too tired/lazy) to link someone. I think I'll blame it on copyediting: one gets so caught up in the petty details--like the accuracy of a caption, or how someone spells his/her name--that important things, like linking one's friends, fall by the wayside.
And for those of you who will be scouring for typos and grammatical errors in my posts--have at it. I ain't getting paid here, so I try to turn that part of my mind off, if/when possible. ("Shall I check that spelling? Hell no! Yee-Haw!") If any of you want to pay me $20-$30 an hour to check my entries over, that's a different matter, and we can negotiate such a thing. Absolutely.
9/08/2003 01:16:00 AM
Sunday, September 07, 2003
JUST THE FACTS, MA'AM
I worked all this past week in my freelance gig for a magazine, where I spend time periodically helping them "ship," as we say. I'll be doing it again this coming week, either Mon-Wed or all week long, if they need it.
The strategy for the past six months or so has been to acquire freelance clients so that I wouldn't have to go get a staff job--because my last three full-time, permanent jobs have all ended miserably. (Why? Because I tend to give too much, and then resent that later on--once I get canned and think about all that freaking overtime. Also, I hate having to be someplace at 9:00 in the morning. If you've looked at a few of the posting times for my entries, you know why.)
Lately, though, things have been bad enough financially for me to consider taking another permanent gig. I hope that if I do I am careful, and don't just say "yes" on the basis that "well, they do cut checks." I hope being hungry doesn't make me clumsy.
Copy-editing, by the way, is a difficult, stressful job--particularly when you are doing it as a freelancer, and basically have no standing in the company. Whenever a detail catches your eye you have no way of knowing whether it is something others will consider important. And fact-checking is part of this gig. I once caught a potential inconsistency in a story. This impressed my boss, who suggested that I call the author to check on it. The writer was also impressed that I'd caught something so subtle, and said, "yes. Change that." I told him I could only bring it to the attention of the editors. One of the associate editors had overheard me on the phone, however, and chewed me out afterward for checking on what she considered to be a tiny detail.
And my boss didn't back me up.
My point? I despise the subjective nature of my job--never quite knowing where the "sweet spot" is, and what constitutes a helpful vs. an annoying query. And not being sure to what degree one should try to educate people about such things as the finer points of grammar and word usage.
I have a friend who is in sales once describe to me the nature of his compensation. My jaw just dropped: there was nothing subjective about it. All his money--salary, bonuses, "raises"--came from a spreadsheet. There wasn't anything fuzzy. No having to massage people's egos. No kissing ass. No having to act like you don't think people are idiots even when they are. No "don't crush me like a bug, but I really think you should re-consider this rather idiotic and self-contradictory phrase the writer has come up with."
If it comes across like some of this has to do with my arrogance, I'm sure that's true. I don't always get along with my species, since I require tolerance for my absent-mindedness and fuzzy thinking, but turn around and have contempt for the unwashed masses and their perfectly unsatisfactory analyses and turns of phrase. I believe the usual term for someone like me is "misanthrope." Or, sometimes, "asshole."
Considering the fact that people like me tend to earn half of what others do who do not know how to use "which"/"that" correctly, I think it's understandable that we tend to be a little anti-social. That and the asberger's syndrome explain a lot.
I'm expecting my period any day now. Can you tell?
(No, no. I haven't sprayed anyone with bullets yet. But give me time. Mostly I've gone in and smiled at people and tried to be pleasant and helpful, and looked forward to the weekend, when I could say what I really think in this blog.)
9/07/2003 01:26:00 AM
Friday, September 05, 2003
AND SPEAKING OF RACE...
How come no one's upset at me for running a segregated blogroll? Are my readers all crackers? I mean, it's okay if they are. But just let me know.
Okay, here's one for you: What distinguishes a cracker from a redneck? Please clarify/explain. Thank you.
(Yes. E-mail is fine on that one.)
9/05/2003 12:42:00 AM
PUBLIC CERVIX ANNOUNCEMENT
Light blogging for at least the next 24 hours. I know it's been a light week, and you are all Jones-ing for my brilliance. But I have a day job (a freelance office gig, with almost-office hours) and cannot tarry over the laptop.
I'll catch up over the weekend, though.
Thanks for the traffic on my "Clint" entry, if that's why you're here. Huzzah, Carnival of the Vanities.
Stop on by again in a few days; I'm generally insightful, amusing, and compelling.
For a white chick, that is.
UPDATE: I found the link, and at least recognized the hard work of the divine Dr. Cline at Rhetorica, who did a great job on the "Carnivale" this week. And . . . who knew he had such a hot blog anyway?--he's definitely bookmarked.
9/05/2003 12:37:00 AM
Monday, September 01, 2003
HISTORY WITH YOUR TEA?
Be sure to check out Jen's blog at her new address; she is the queen of intriguing historical tidbits. A veeerrrry interesting blog. (Despite her "axis of naughty" affiliation. As I understand it, most "axis of naughty" members consider themselves to be allied with White Glenn--though some say they intend to eliminate Glenn and Frank J. I can dig it--we all want to rule the blogosphere when it comes right down to it, no?)
9/01/2003 12:56:00 PM
OKAY. I'LL YIELD TO THE PEER-GROUP PRESSURE.
Here's me:
Unlike everyone else on the block, I'll actually give you the link to go there directly and getcher own war cry. Would I be Attila Girl if I didn't?
9/01/2003 12:21:00 AM
Saturday, August 30, 2003
SEPARATE SPHERES?
Margi Lowry quotes the following from Venomous Kate, who granted an interview to David Strain (part of his "Sunday Seven" series) that I only got around to reading tonight. [That lay in the house that Jack built. You were waiting for that, no?]
I think the Blogosphere is going to spend quite some time establishing its relevancy and its niche in the stream of information available to people on a daily basis, and that's going to cause some growing pains. Right now, I think we're already seeing some of those growing pains--there's a definite tension between the bloggers who focus on their personal lives and write quality, eloquent original work on a daily basis, and those who are news-, politics- and war-bloggers with little emphasis on the person behind the blog. I don't know whether this is going to cause a split or if it's just a temporary tension, but it's there and it seems to be growing deeper with proponents on both sides getting increasingly vocal about it.
At some point--if we're not already there--I think we'll see two separate "spheres" that don't overlap much. One will consist of bloggers who view themselves as providing an alternative media, an information service that harnesses the power of the internet and the ability to do rapid fact-checking with instant updates and personal in-depth analysis or op-ed. On the other will be bloggers who see themselves forming a social network to exchange ideas and form friendships, with their blogs focusing on their lives and the similarities of their lives to other people throughout the world and their work consisting of original writing that's shared in a self-published forum.
Right now, both of those styles are considered part of the "blogosphere," and yet when you look at the rankings it's primarily the blogs providing information that are drawing the larger numbers of readers and attention, which means that a huge number of quality, dedicated bloggers aren't getting the attention their blogs merit. The good news is that I think sooner, rather than later, the bloggers who seek to be information sources will indeed become an alternative media and will wind up forming their own little "sphere," which would make room for the folks putting out quality, original writing to get the attention and traffic that they deserve.
I wonder. I've considered dividing my blogroll into two sections: "newsy" blogs, and "social" ones. The problem is deciding exactly where you draw the line. Certainly some sites are clearly at either end of the spectrum, but there are a bunch of 'em in between. (As for me--you will rarely see breaking news here. You may, however, read the occasional commentary that will make you think twice. That is, when I'm not writing about my mother's little dog.)
I certainly have received complaints from my serious readers (um, make that "serious reader") about discussing blogwars. Well. One of these "wars" was grave enough that I felt compelled to comment on it. The other is so frivolous that I felt compelled to comment on it. As far as I'm concerned, the only justified blogwar is a joke war. If you are so serious about the blogosphere that you are threatening other people's jobs, or trying to get their kids taken away . . . do yourself two favors: 1) throw your computer away; 2) get a real hobby. Macrame, masturbation: it matters not.
I regard blogging as a sort of magazine. Certainly that's what I am: a magazine, rather than a newspaper. You will not be well-informed by reading my blog. You may be entertained on occasion, and you may gain an interesting slant on something-or-other. But I'm no substitute for Fox News (or CNN, WorldNetDaily . . . whatever).
And FWIW, even the Big Dogs of News have their own favorite personal topics: Stephen Green posts recipes, and panegyrics to his bride. Glenn of Instapundit fuels the fires of Frank J's faux blogwar with him, and alludes to his own supposed predilection for canine shakes. And if something's funny, James Joyner will link it: he may be serious, but he's no snob. Kate herself manages to braid together the silly, the X-rated, and the policy-related on her site.
Hey. I may be a blogwar whore--I'll stake out a position on anything. But on this larger potential conflict I'm firmly neutral: I want my news and my human interest. There are things I just won't do for traffic, ya know. Surprised, aren't you? Me too. Who knew?
8/30/2003 01:25:00 AM
AND SPEAKING OF KITTY BLOGS
YOU ARE CATNIP
What herb are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
With a tip of the hat to Kelley, who apparently has a thing or two in common with me.
8/30/2003 12:38:00 AM
Friday, August 29, 2003
SEXISM, RACISM, AND JUST HAVIN' A GOOD TIME THEREWITH
So, I was thinking about updating my blogroll, which is chronically behind, when I realized that 2-3 of the blogs I need to add are by illustrious black bloggers. And I was thinking of how ambivalent I am when I see my name--or that of any other female blogger--on a separate "chick bloggers" list on someone's blogroll. I always do a double take, and think, "hey. There's more to me than my boobs, ya know." Then the Voice of Reason takes over and reminds me that I do, indeed, blog about "women's issues," and express a distinctly female point of view. (For example, if you're small-framed, don't assume that a small gun will be right for you. A firearm of substantial weight might actually provide you with a stabler shooting platform. At the same time, make sure that the trigger reach is correct for your hand, which may be smaller than a man's.)
I'm aware, of course, that sexism, racism, and homophobia are all different things: there are subtleties to gender interactions that simply aren't present in dealing with other races (or even ethnicities that one might be bigoted against, like Latinos or Jews). The conventional "women's studies" viewpoint is, "we are the only oppressed group that regularly sleeps with its oppressors." (Years later I realized that once you use the word "oppressed" to describe yourself, you're lost. But that's a different story.)
I can't help it: I wonder if it would be offensive to add black bloggers to my blogroll as a separate category. Will Glenn mind? How about Mr. Bowen from No Watermelons? Will I finally get a respectable amount of hate mail? Or am I providing a public service to those who want to see more entries by people of color? Will people send me links to the best black blogs or blog entries? Will I then branch out into providing links to the finest Japanese or Indian blogs? Will the local Unitarians burn a question mark on my lawn? Who knows?
Guess I'll find out.
But what to do about Infinite Monkeys?--aren't they racially mixed? Hm. I have no idea. My recollection is that at least one or two of them are black. Hence, I've decided that they qualify as "Black Blogs"--that is, "blogs wherein one might find someone representing a possible Black point of view."
Just to be clear: if anyone from any of these blogs objects, I'll vaporize the category. No "separate but equal" treatment from me, thank you very much. At least, not in the Jim Crow sense.
8/29/2003 12:51:00 AM
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
SCENT OF THE CRIME
I'm trying to watch my Tuesday night television crime shows, and it just ain't the same without my spouse. Ah, well. He'll be back soon.
Shows that focus on forensics basically fall into two categories: those that are willing to use the word "semen," and those that are not. I always wonder about those that substitute euphemisms like "biological evidence." At first blush, you'd think that's because there might be small kids watching. But what kind of creature lets his/her/its kids see programs in which women's bodies regularly show up floating nude near the banks of rural rivers, their bodies inhabited by various types of larvae?
Hey . . . where'd everybody go? Was it something I said?
8/26/2003 10:55:00 PM
THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT . . . MAYBE
David Strain asks, "show tunes. What am I missing?" Eventually he concludes, "nothing."
RTWDT.* Now.
* Read The Whole Damned Thing.
8/26/2003 10:43:00 PM
Monday, August 25, 2003
EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE...
You hear two sides to one story, and have to wonder which one is closer to the truth. This one could be tough to sort out: would you go with Jen, because of her historical tidbits, or Frank J., for his irreverence, sense of humor, and love of guns?
Tough, tough.
8/25/2003 02:58:00 AM
Sunday, August 24, 2003
NOT JUST LIKE FLICKING A SWITCH
No Watermelons--that anti-melon maestro--explains why you can't neglect energy infrastructure for years and years and then expect to set it all right instantly.
8/24/2003 12:18:00 AM
Saturday, August 23, 2003
DOGGIE BLOGGING
My mother's dog is learning to deal with me. I've been permitted to pet her a few times, and she accepts me more than she accepts most strangers. And when my mother has to leave for a few minutes Sunset seems a little happier if I offer low-voiced reassurances that mom will be back, and isn't she "a good girl" for being so patient.
Sunset Angel needs doggie valium, if you ask me. But I relate to her, and that's a little scary. Always attracted to what's damaged, ya know.
Somehow I got growled/barked at twice when my mother and I tried to look at a quilting calendar together tonight, and all we can think is that the dog's been hit with a few magazines in her day--that's the only explanation that makes sense. (Of course, why is my mother permitted to peruse the calendar alone in peace? Sigh.)
What a neurotic dog--but she does have a sweet little face. Fortunately, my husband would never let me keep her. (Though he's agreed in principle to my getting a nice big dog--a Labrador or a Golden Retriever--after we acquire a child. Better that the child adapt to a dog than a dog adapt to a child. You understand.)
8/23/2003 11:11:00 PM
SHE IS GROWING ON ME
How could she not, with that sweet little black-brown face. My mother's new dog was mistreated, neglected and eventually sent into my mother's home as a potential "foster dog." Despite the fact that she growls at me--and at other strangers (and freaks out when my mother leaves the room)--I still think she could make a small family happy. Especially one that likes a little solicitious attititude toward those within the compound of the home: she's very willing to bark at strangers/"intruders" at night; this could be good. Maybe they could introduce a new family member every week as "someone she should like." I dunno.
(I secretly want to keep her, but it's impossible. I cannot get a dog this year.)
UPDATE: Hm. Thought I'd posted about the dog right before stumbling off to bed last night/this morning. Must not blog while half-asleep. Weird thing was, I couldn't find this on my site for half the day today--hence, yet another post about the charming/annoying canine my mother brought with her for a visit.
8/23/2003 05:21:00 AM
Friday, August 22, 2003
DOG DAY AFTERNOON
My husband just left town, and on the same day my mother showed up, per our arrangement. I was looking forward to seeing her without the spouse around, a "just us girls" sort of visit.
I also thought it would be great to have her here for the first time without a dog, since the dog she had for years had health problems that led to spotting on my carpet. Plus--the noise, the smells. It just seemed that without the little dachsund in her arms, we'd have more freedom. A pity that I felt that way after the little dog died, but I did.
So she pulled up in her car today, reached into the back seat . . . and pulled out another little tiny brown-and-black dog. I thought I was in a Twilight Zone episode.
Whereas the old dog was a placid, elderly little thing, this one is a hyper, feisty little miniature pinscher. Mom is its "foster mother," and the dog may have been abused in the past. This means that every time my mother leaves the room--even to go to the bathroom--the dog whines and barks. It also means that unless my mother and I are close together--or touching--the dog isn't sure if I'm an okay person, and growls and barks at me. Since my mom is sleeping in the dining room/kitchen, this means no midnight snacks for me. I tried sneaking in, but the minute I touched the door to the dining room the growling and barking started: it's as if the dog wants to show my mother that she's doing a good job of protecting her.
Maybe tomorrow night I'll collect some snack food and keep it here in the den--or in the bedroom.
Or, since this dog is actually housebroken, we might find another place for my mother and "Angel Sunset" to sleep. It doesn't have to have hard flooring, but it does have to be a little bit indestructible--this creature is a climber, and leaps around a bit: I've seen it jump multiple feet into the air. (Though the dining room was the easiest to tidy up/dog proof.)
This is the kind of thing that makes me believe in God: there is clearly a Presence out there orchestrating this for his/her/its amusement.
Aaaarrgh. I think I'm getting hungry again.
8/22/2003 04:27:00 AM
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
YOU'RE SO VAIN; I'LL BET YOU THINK THIS POST IS ABOUT YOU.
Or maybe it's just time for the Carnival of the Vanities, up right now at James' site, Outside the Beltway. He's doing a wonderful job.
8/20/2003 01:50:00 AM
MY PARTY, RIGHT OR WRONG
Governor Low-Beam gave a speech today in front of a bunch of syncophants at UCLA who cheered and booed in all the right places.
He essentially said, "I didn't do anything wrong, I promise not to do it again, the evil Republicans are behind this because they want to Defeat the Democratic Process and Grab Power, and at least we didn't have power outages like they did in New York."
I'm not kidding; he actually brought up the East Coast power outages and bragged about how he "kept the lights on in California." But not a word about locking us into 20-25-year contracts that oblige us to pay 200% percent of today's market value for energy until I'm . . . middle-aged.
As for the mess he's spent five years making of the California budget, he promises to appoint a commission that will help him figure out what to do. I wonder if the members of that commission will have the same conflicts of interest as the members of his energy commission--who worked for energy companies that stood to benefit from the sweet deal Davis was cutting them.
What a useless waste of protoplasm. Get him out of the statehouse, and replace him with any fiscally responsible person from any party. I'd happily vote for my mother at this point: she's a math teacher, and--given sufficient motivation--she can balance a checkbook and look for good deals on high-ticket items. She'd do a much better job.
"Defeat the Democratic process," my ass. Let's hide behind the donkey; it'll protect any level of incompetence.
Most of my Democratic friends don't seem to be falling for this, luckily. If you know someone who does, please remind them that Gray Davis only cares about Gray Davis.
Thank you.
8/20/2003 01:24:00 AM
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
OY FUCKING GEVALT
I suspect I’m about to make a few people mad. But they should know by now that I’m not going to censor myself to please them. And that our respective gut feelings about some other bloggers’ characters are starkly at odds.
Here are my observations:
1) A few chapters ago in the “Goddess vs. Serpent” saga, Venomous Kate posted something that documented some of the difficulties encountered by those who are trying to raise kids and be full-time homemakers in this day and age. It was a very subjective post--more like a diary entry than anything else. And it was a little out-of-character for her to post it, since she usually sticks with politics, using tiny little portholes to give us glimpses of her “real life.” I’m sure she regrets opening this large picture window into her most personal feelings. But she did.
I felt there was tremendous merit in the piece, since it was a raw, unprocessed look at some of the fault lines in the traditional system of the woman being a stay-at-home-mom--a lifestyle that’s very easy to romanticize.
The reaction was amazingly beside the point and out of proportion. One blogger actually went so far as to fisk this diary entry, paragraph by paragraph, and conclude that VK has emotional problems--and drinks too much.
The fisking was fabulous, because in it the blogger--Crazy Tracy--essentially gave intellectual answers to what are really emotional questions. It was hard to belive she had ever worked in psychology at all. Though I did believe her when she said she’s a dry alcoholic. There are those who take on a certain zealousness when they give something up. The book Alcoholics Anonymous makes it a point to discourage that attitude in 12-steppers. But they aren’t always successful: I know “recovering alcoholics” who see drunks behind every tree.
Tracy--nice 12-Step work. Page 449:
When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation--some fact of my life--unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God’s world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes.
The whole concept of fisking a diary entry is enchanting to me. I want to know what’s next: can I fisk poetry? How about T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”? I mean, can we agree that Prufrock is a just a little self-indulgent in that poem? He has it pretty good, and he should just BUCK UP! How about fisking Edgar Allan Poe? Now that dude was moody, moody, moody. I’ll bet Crazy Tracy could tell him just how crazy he was.
I’d love to fisk the romantics--don’t you think Coleridge was just a bit ungrateful for all his many blessings? And Keats!--there’s a guy who needed to get his feet back on the ground. Not to mention William Butler Yeats. Whine, whine, whine about Ireland all day long. Why don’t you just SHUT UP, AND THROW A GRENADE like a normal Mick?
2) The next chapter, I suppose, occurred when Venomous Kate’s daughter trolled Da Goddess’ web site after her mother was in bed, and said some outrageously rude things.
Kate figured out immediately the next morning what had happened, and offered to give her phone number to Da Goddess--so the child could apologize in person--but this offer was apparently refused.
There is a theory out there--promoted, I believe, by Anton--that Venomous Kate wrote the entry herself. Of course, his theory rests on Joanie’s and Kate’s clocks being perfectly synched up on their respective computers (After all, if they’re even ten minutes off, that’s time for a girl to cross to the computer, find the blogsite of the woman her mother doesn’t like, and attempt to tear into her. Typing goes faster, BTW, when you are using all caps. And it's not like the composition reflects, um, a great deal of thought.)
My problem with the theory is not that it couldn’t suggest Kate had means and opportunity. Sure--it does create the notion of it being physically possible. But where was motive? I guess I heard two possible motives bandied about: a) Venomous Kate was drunk, so she let loose the bile within her and came up with the “my daughter did it” explanation later. And: b) Kate was simply trying to attack Da Goddess, come what may, and decided to hide behind her 12-year-old daughter to do it.
Let’s take the "she was drunk" theory. Having spent some time looking over things I wrote in various journals when I was in my cups (mostly in my hard-drinking 20s), I can tell you for a fact that no one’s writing style changes that drastically when they are loaded. They may produce typos, but they do not fundamentally forget how to spell. They may get wordy, but they don’t forget that it’s a cardinal sin in the blogosphere to “yell” by typing in all caps. And: no matter how fucked-up Kate got, she certainly wouldn’t have forgotten that her IP is traceable in someone’s comment section. There's no way she would have thought she could do that anonymously.
Then there’s the “impersonated her daughter theory.” The one that involves thought and premeditation.
The biggest argument against this one is obvious: this whole incident was embarrassing to Kate. Why would a person put a lot of thought and effort into something that is going to humiliate them? That’s like saying, “see? She worked on that button of the dress just to the point that it would give way and have her gown slide down her body right in the middle of that speech, showing her in her dorky panty-hose before the professional association made up of her peers in her industry.” People don’t usually work hard to embarrass themselves; most of us assume life will do it for us.
3) There’s a lot of talk going on to the effect that social workers don’t work on Saturdays. The implication usually made is that Kate has actually made this up as well.
Well, I’ve known social workers who sometimes work weekends. How can a person categorically state what the policies are in another county, much less another state?
But, again, there is the “motive” question: why would Kate claim there had been a visit from CPS if there hadn’t been? To garner sympathy? After the fuss dies down, she and Da Goddess will very likely both lose traffic, because no one wants to be involved in something like this. The mud splatters everywhere. VK will always be marked as “the woman whose cat fight went beyond the blogosphere.” There’s no motive, because there’s no possible gain.
For instance, I will likely never again darken the door of a blog whose name contains any of the following letters: M, O, X, I, or E. It's not about assigning blame; it's just that it reminds me of something icky that happened.
4) Kate has never made a public announcement as to who she thinks made that phone call. There has been no accusation. She will not even permit speculation (or hints) on her website.
5) It is a rather egregious form of passive-aggressive mocking to call a woman you strongly dislike “Honey” or even “Hon.” It’s unattractive. It's happened a few times during this little saga. (I now expect 75% of hate mail to me to begin "Honey . . .")
6) If you dislike someone, and yet you find yourself able to recite obscure facts about her--like how many martinis she had the night her son got sick--you really need to consider the possibility that you are obsessing about them. And what that says about your own mental health.
That said,
7) If Da Goddess didn't make that phone call personally, she is not responsible for the fact that it was made. We all talk too much on these sites, and the person who takes talk into the realm of action is solely at fault. I do not want to be held liable if I make a remark about doing something to someone with my Ruger .357 and some wacko reads it and actually commits some kind of felony with a firearm.
It's speech, Folks. Try to use it responsibly. But the cure for speech is more speech, and Joanie didn't, to the best of my understanding, have anything to do with filing that false report. There is a difference between intemperate speech and irresponsible action. (Unless, of course, you are in a crowded theatre.)
That’s the truth, as I see it. Out of the blue, blue sky.
8/19/2003 01:56:00 AM
Monday, August 18, 2003
BEER AND FEAR
I've always wondered about how we socialize kids in the country with respect to alcohol. I've always felt that we let it acquire too much of the Thrill of the Forbidden--and give some teenagers a nearly unquenchable thirst. This is, after all, the country that ran the Prohibition experiment.
Here's one perspective on a European solution to the teens-and-alcohol problem.
8/18/2003 10:49:00 PM
Sunday, August 17, 2003
INSIDE INSIDE THE ACTORS' STUDIO
Last night--Friday night--the Attila-hub and I went out to see James Lipton interview Clint Eastwood for "Inside the Actors' Studio." At the point where an actor's "filmography" is usually announced, Lipton reminded us that Clint has directed and acted in something like 55 films; it was impossible to list them all.
It was at the Geffen Theatre, and we were told they'd open the playhouse doors at 6:30. In reality it was more like 6:55, so we'd been waiting for an hour or so when they let us in. It was hot, but no one complained. They wanted to see Clint.
I was thankful the Hun-spouse is still a member of the television academy; this was one heck of a nice perk. (Even better than the mountain of free videotape/DVDs that rain on us every spring in preparation for the Emmy award voting process.)
The Geffen Theatre is actually the old Westwood Playhouse, across from UCLA. I've been going there since I was a teenager in the 70s. It used to be that the theatre was surrounded--I kid you not--by a furniture store that sold lots of Danish modern pieces. My mother still has a leather chair she bought there in the mid-70s. I have a bookcase--a well-made teak-veneer piece--she got me there in the late 70s. It's still going strong.
I've seen there: several contemporary plays during the Geffen era, including one that starred Valerie Harper. A one-woman play about Virginia Woolf. Another, as I recall, on Gertrude Stein. Vincent Price, I believe, doing a one-man show as Oscar Wilde. Lots of productions over the years, but a lot of one-person shows. It's an intimate little theatre. Made of brick. One really good earthquake, and it's toast. But it's certainly a pretty little venue.
They were taping the Clint interview for television, so there was the usual nonsense about filling every single chair up front--a big hue and cry about "we *must* fill that seat in the third row! It's television!" My husband and I were seated in the second row, but off to audience right (stage left). Just at the angle where we couldn't see Clint's face too much of the time, though he twisted around to acknowledge those of us off to his left every now and again.
The interview took a good three hours, and the AC wasn't working very well at the Geffen. I was glad I'd worn a light blouse. (It wasn't as bad inside the theatre, though, as it had been in the lobby/former furniture store.)
Clint grew up poor. I like that: I like that a guy whose father moved from Sacramento to Pacific Palisades (back when Pac Pal was a small, nothing town) to take a job as a gas station attendent during the Depression eventually became this monstrously successful man.
I also like it that his sets are, apparently, the only quiet ones in the business. His crew members use radios like those employed by the Secret Service, and Clint himself communicates a lot through hand signals. He never says "action," or "cut." Rather, it's "let's start" and "that's enough." He tries to place as few hurdles to a harmonious, serene scene as he can.
I like it that he respects himself enough to really take care of himself. He was born in '29, I believe--which makes him seven years older than my parents. (My mother and father are both, as my dad puts it, "Vintage 1936.") Yet he's holding up better than both of them.
Lipton covered a lot, though to mention every work would have been impossible. (My candidate for "most egregious omission"?--Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Not a word about that one!)
How Clint got into acting.
Where Clint got his first job.
His casting on Rawhide.
Play Misty for Me.
The Dirty Harry series.
His spaghetti Westerns.
Every Which Way But Up. (Lipton: "Whatever possessed you to star opposite a chimpanzee?"
Clint: "it's not that different from working with people. Okay--it's like working with a seven-year old. We could only do one take; the chimp wouldn't do it twice.")
The Unforgiven. (Lipton: "I've only used this word twice before in this entire series. I believe The Unforgiven is a masterpiece.")
The Bridges of Madison County. (Lipton: "Meryl Streep told us that when she worked with you she was only once conscious of your being an actor and a director at the same time. And that was when you were kissing, and she realized you were gesturing directions to the crew behind her back."
Clint: "I've learned to turn the switch on and off again. You have to do that to direct yourself . . . . You only worry about not being objective enough about your own performance.")
They didn't talk about Sondra Locke. And I don't know if I want to read her hatchet job on Clint. Why ruin all my lovely illusions about the man? She's still a shooter, so I'd have to take her perceptions seriously. A pity.
Lipton waxed enthusiastic about the upcoming Clint release Mystic River, which a friend of mine loaned me some time ago. It's now buried, but I guess I'd best go read it. Or maybe wait until the movie is released, and see it first--then read it. Apparently Clint managed, with Mystic River, what he didn't quite achieve in Blood Work. I'm looking forward to it.
Time marches on relentlessly. People like Clint keep growing and changing. He does what he pleases, and some of these movies succeed commercially. Others don't. He claims he doesn't even really know which ones are likely to be hits. (Though he didn't contradict Lipton's assertion that he does "hits" to finance his more independent/artsy films. He just professes not to know which are going to be which. He says he assumed The Unforgiven was destined for obscurity.)
I want to do the same. Write what I like. And assume people will pay for enough of it to make it worth the times they do not.
And I hope/believe I'll still look great in my 70s. Just a different kind of great--that's all.
Hug your spouse today. And your DVD player. Kiss your kids, if you've got 'em. Go do what you do well.
8/17/2003 04:31:00 AM
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