Christmas Carol

This isn't the first time I've promoted her blog, but if you want to be inspired, you really ought to read all of the advent meditations on Carol's blog, Join the Living. She and/or her partner, Kate, posted daily advent meditations - ones that are apt all the year round and that are spiritually relevant. Enjoy!

Mark Twain on free speech:

'As an active privilege, it ranks with the privilege of committing murder: we may exercise it if we are willing to take the consequences. Murder is forbidden both in form and fact; free speech is granted in form but forbidden in fact. By the common estimate both are crimes, and are held in deep odium by all civilized peoples. Murder is sometimes punished, free speech always - when committed. Which is seldom... There is justification for this reluctance to utter unpopular opinions: the cost of utterance is too heavy...

'... I feel it every week or two when I want to print something that a fine discretion tells me I mustn't. Sometimes my feelings are so hot that I have to take to the pen and pour them out on paper to keep them from setting me afire inside..'

- from Mark Twin's "The Priviledge of the Grave"

Thanks to this week's The New Yorker for this reminder.

Sometimes it's hard having a superpower.. You know?

It turns out that I have bionic hearing. Of all the superpowers one could acquire, this wouldn't be my first pick, but then one rarely chooses these things as he is being bitten by a radio active spider, as he is careening from his destroyed planet into a farm field in his infant sized space ship, or as he is being genetically modified into a weapon of mass destruction by the military who (generally) underestimates a person's emotional yearnings to do the right thing. Not that any of that happened to me. I don't think.

But I do have strong hearing as evidenced by the fact that I get angry when certain members of my household breathe too loudly. I try not to react when the person next to me sounds like the space shuttle throttling as he casually watches a movie turned up so loud that the Branch Davidians feel nervous. That confrontation always ends poorly, with a snippy comment by the breather that goes, "You seriously want me to die, don't you. Sorry I have to breathe in your space to survive."

Because of my extraordinary (ahem) gift, life can be fairly miserable. I can hear every conversation in my classroom and have to pretend not to hear most of them since some of them could ruin a person's faith in humanity. I hear every slight move the baby makes over the monitor. It wakes me up at night and I have to make sure he is Okay, even though I know that he probably just slightly moved his hand. Also, I hear a horrifically high pitched shrieking that comes from our cable box. So much so that I sometimes can't be in the same room with the TV.

And the last sound is a particular bitch.

We had satellite up until a month ago when fate would send a cable representative up our drive. Rich, in his usual hospitable manner, invited the guy in, made him a cup of cocoa, and asked him if he'd like to build a fort in the living room with the couch cushions and play Wii Mario Cart. Or that's how it sometimes happens in my mind when we invite a salesman into our house. It's always bad news because we "befriend" the person and feel obligated to buy whatever it is that he's selling. That's how we ended up with the most worthless vacuum known to man and a subscription to Cruising World Magazine.

Needless to say, we got cable and bundled some stuff, or something.

The problem was the cable box screamed. Loudly. Sometimes even Rich could hear it.

After the first week of enduring the sound, I demanded that Rich call the cable company. They remarked that sometimes the boxes squeal a little when the DVR is working and that they would come out and fix it right now. They did. I hardly had time to drag a comb through my hair when the man showed up with a shiny new cable box. And I was impressed. Until the shiny new box began squealing, too.

Once again we called. This time, At&t (the phone company/cable supplier) hung up on us twice and on the third attempt told us they would send someone between 12 noon and 4pm the following day. I tried not to be too snarky about the fact that noon to 4 is when all of the cool stuff happens in a day. I'm not sure exactly what, but I do know that I was most inconvenienced. And it was, after all, my fault, I suppose, that my super bionic military infused hearing from another planet was picking up the sound. I had already been a pain, and I was trying not to push it.

So we waited. Patiently. From 12 noon to 4pm. No calls. No doorbells. No new cable box.

Annoyed, Rich called again. They "checked on his account" for 20 minutes, and while doing so, hung up. We hung our heads, defeated.

As life moves along in it's own special time, or two hours later in this case, I forgot to be mad about the cable box. We were having dinner guests over to celebrate Christmas before all of us succumbed to family visits and the usual "holiday cheer". Around the time that the fist guest arrived, the phone, which hadn't rung all day, rang.

Me: "Hello?"

Him: "Yeah. This is Dennis. From At&t. I have a work order for you."

Me: (Annoyed)"Um. You guys were supposed to be here from noon to fou.."

Him: (Also annoyed and cutting me off)"Yeah and I just got the order."

Clearly he was having a bad day, so I tried to soften my tone.

Me: "Okay. Where are you, Dennis?"

Him: "Close."

Me: "Okay. But we're having a dinner party. I suppose you are welcome to come on in and install the new box.. and if you're hungry, there's plenty of spaghetti. Do you like spaghetti?"

Him: "Uh. Well. (sigh) Um. It's OK about the dinner part, but I'll come and install the box."

Me: "Okay. See you soon, Dennis."

And we disconnected.

The dinner guests arrived. And so did Dennis. He began installing the new box as we were toasting our evening. I again offered some dinner to Dennis, who was clearly amused at the proposition, and as the evening went on, I occasionally looked around dinner guest Jamie who was sitting directly across from me and who silently snickered with me, to check on Dennis. He was fine, his blue tooth ear piece blinking with importance. And we ate. And he watched.

Rich eventually showed Dennis out, inviting him back later for fort building, and everyone seemed content or at least amused.

That is until I was up with the baby in the middle of the night. While walking through the living room I sighed to myself, "Well. At least this one doesn't scream as loudly as the previous two." And I wasn't talking about the baby.

A New Kind Of Discipline

Oh, you better watch out You better not cry

Better not pout. I'm telling you why

Santa Claus is coming to town!

(Thanks for the magical Christmas for kids pics, Gagi!)

Dichotomy

Before Jack arrived and during the time I procrastinated about setting up his room until I was so pregnant I could hardly walk, I was somewhat cool. Okay. I use the term loosely.But I had the most awesome circumstance - that is getting to do what I wanted, when I wanted. But the day I was setting up the nursery, clearing out all of that junk clutter - the stuff that accumulates because you don't have the heart to throw it out just yet and that tells some interesting stories about who you are - I ran across something particularly intriguing. At the time, I threw that object in the "get it the hell out of the way, I don't care what you have to do to it to make it disappear" pile, but maybe it should have gone in the "hey look Rich, it's another trip to the attic for you; sorry, I can't take care of it myself since I'm 75 years pregnant and you did this to me (eat a bag of shit)" pile.

I wish I had put it in the latter pile, but alas, it is gone forever.

I'm talking, of course, about my Beef stick. I realize that that could be misconstrued, so I'll leave it to you to brave the link. But that's one of the things that I miss. Or really, it represents the lifestyle that I miss. Instead of saving sticks and bobble heads and all the ridiculous pre-baby chochkey, I'm saving onesies and pacis and booties. Not that those things are bad to save. I do love my kid more than any of that. But I miss me too.

I tried to salvage some part of my 'before Jack' identity, by moving from Viaggio to here and setting up the Bug Barn, for example. Also, without meaning to, I realized the other day that I'm only buying red things (underwear, outerwear, shoes). I'm trying to continue doing the things I used to do - like Salon. But Me as I knew me, is fading. And I think that's OK. I guess I should say that I'm evolving. I mean, Ani DiFranco did it. So can I, right? But it's hard.

My thoughts are flooded only with Jack - what he needs, if he's hungry or tired or bored. I no longer have time for The New Yorker or for reading anything heavier than Janet Evanovich and Stephanie Meyer. And I'm doing crafts, for the love of God- making ornaments out of Styrofoam and glitter! For example, a few days ago I was watching Martha Stewart glue glitter to Styrofoam bird asses. I then caught myself thinking, "Oooh. glittery bird ass; it's a good thing!"

And then I made one.

And then I started wretching at the realization.

Gah! And what the hell!?

I know it's supposed to be like this, and I'm sure there is some sort of genetic something that makes mommies blind to everything except to what their babies and Martha Stewart need. I think it starts with nesting - that whole throwing out the Beef sticks to get ready for the baby. But where does it end? Should it?

I'm probably loosing it. But in my defense, I already was. At least I have a semi-legitimate excuse.

(As you can see, the writing is suffering, too, as the brain is now one tracked.)

It's What's for Dinner

I'm having peppermint cookies and white Merlot for dinner tonight - part of the perks of being A) a "grown-up" B) too lazy to cook C) completely unconcerned at the moment about personal health and D) a selfish, indulgent girl.

Thanks for the cookies, Fougs!

Blahgy Blog

I didn't go to my faculty Christmas party this year.. because.. um. .. I suck. I have no excuse other than I flat out didn't want to go. I haven't been particularly social this year for a several reasons:

1. I am bad at idle chit chat and really don't have time for it. Be my friend, genuinely, or get out of the way so that I can get a cup of coffee and go home.

2. I am tired. And cranky. Because I have a 6 month old baby who is teething.

3. I have a ridiculous amount of homework all of the time, every. single. day. most of which stays packed in my school bag because

4. I have a ridiculous amount of housework to do, too.

5. I haven't felt "well" in a while, probably because of hormones.. or lack of exercise..or lack of vegetables.. or due to stress.. probably because I have 150 students, 3 preps, and some really demanding parents (as in one sent me a boldface list of demands, to which I raised my middle finger).

6. I'm balding.

7. I'm so so SO tired. I think I already mentioned it. But I can't remember because I'm SO so tired.

Ironically, I am actually in the holiday spirit, probably because I am so excited to make it special for Baby Jack. He is a relief to all of my cantankery.

I'm sorry for being all grumpy on my blog, or really, my "blah-g". It probably means I'll be getting a call or two from my family. But I promise to get better soon. I do have a break coming up. All I have to do is survive tomorrow and then I might be able to catch up and breathe.

And there is hope. I'm on a red kick lately and recently helped myself to some RED unmentionables from Victoria's Secret, and a red pea coat to match. I'll throw on my heels and it's a party... but not a faculty Christmas one.

In Memoriam

Bettie Page 1923-2008
"She captured a generation of men and women with her free spirit and unabashed sensuality..."

On Being Left

There are so many things I need to write about today and I can't. My muse has packed her suitcase, left an ultimatum in the form of a tear-stained note on my pillow, and is currently hailing a cab. I don't have the energy to run after her, especially when it's raining. So this is me lethargically drooling across a keyboard, hoping that someday all will be resolved, though far be it for me to put any effort into it. She may never return. And that means neither will I. The trick is it's supposed to be this way for me - what's best for him is the "right" way for me, for us and this new life- for today, at least.

I'm such a bitch to let her go.

But then she could have had the decency to tell me she was leaving..

Dream Cafe Revisited

Last night, after a few stems of Pinot Grigio and some contemplative conversation, I accidentally found myself at what used to be a whimsical restaurant, a bohemian veg mecca that unfortunately cowed to meat, therefore becoming appealing to those of us who are a little behind the curve, trend-wise, and a lot more safe. And there I sat among new friends and old, realizing that what happened to the restaurant was sort of a reflection of me.

Not the meat part.. I've always been a carnivore except for that one week when a friendly Uzbek challenged me to an all out veg-a-thon. That was a long week for me, especially as I only know how to steam veggies and toss salads.. Plus, I had jury duty that week. But that's a different story.

Anyway.

What I mean is that I'm past that age of trial and error, freedom wise, and have settled in to my age group - the one where we are fairly comfortable with the status quo- where we make decisions because we are responsible, and "it makes sense," rather than allowing for surprises, even if sometimes the surprises are uncomfortable. I've cowed to an expectation.

What's worse is during the time when it made sense for me to be most irresponsible, I was completely rational! Ugh. What a waste! OK, so not all was a waste. I did, you know, get an education and travel the (safe, Western) world, pretending to be irresponsible. I did wander down to Mexico City once in college, equipped with nothing but a backpack and curiosity, and then eventually Montezuma's revenge.. That was irresponsible, I suppose, and made the bus ride back close to unbearable. But now I'm all consumed by the fact that that part of my life - the part with those sorts of options - may be over for a while.

I have a mortgage. In suburbia. With a cat. And a kid.

Whatthehellhappened?!!

Can I find my way back to at least a little bit of spontaneity?

Some of my friends have gone back, and I envy them.

We did pack Jack's clothes in a Rick Steeves travel backpack for our Thanksgiving jaunt to the Flatlands, and that gave me some hope for our family's future. Also, I applied for a work visa abroad (and was told I am an unlikely candidate), and searched for teaching jobs abroad. I found one UK match that sounded perfect, except I would have to start January 9th - as in a month from now, if I were hired. No can do with all of my responsibility and mortgage..

I suppose, I'm just looking for a new adventure now. I want to dust off the comfort zone and do something else. And maybe looking is enough of a distraction for now, until I can actually make some life changing decisions.
But I am antsy..

Friday Night Salon

When was the last time you had a genuine conversation--an experience not of mere self-assertion but of speaking and listening as though you had something both to offer and to receive? Our habits of language define us, but the pace of our lives is such that the simple gestures of listening carefully and speaking prudently are amazingly rare. The Friday Night Salon aims at being an alternative to the urban rush that denies the civilizing graces of community. We begin with good food and drink, then take our places in a circle for discussion about a variety of relevant, substantial topics. It's a welcome way to end the Dallas workweek.

Discussion topics for December 5, 2008:
1. The psychology of money
2. Is homo sapiens intellectually curious by nature?
3. Can we control how we experience time?

All responses to any and all of the questions are welcome!

Cloudy and Confounded Philosophy

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has fallen, we've got used to the ruins, and we start to build up new little habitats, new little hopes. If we can't make a road through the obstacles, we go round, or climb over the top. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. - Lady Chatterley's Lover, D.H. Lawrence, 1927