Idle Thoughts.

Most of you kids are probably too young to remember a time when Neil Diamond was played on the radio as more than an example of an oldie, but indeed there was such a time. Now, I’ve never been a particular fan of Neil Diamond, but when I was little my dad certainly was. Neil was always crooning from my father’s turntable, or from the 8-track in the car. I was reminded of Mr. Diamond today when someone sent me a note to say he is on a world tour and that surely I would be going. And… no, but it did remind me of a cheesy story. When I was 6 or 7 years old, for a talent show at school a friend and I did some sort of ridiculous tumbling routine to "Lonely Looking Sky" or whatever it’s called from Jonathan Livingston Seagull. We hadn't really planned it out that well so it was this sort of interminable few minutes of little girls doing somersaults to music on a stage in front of an awful lot of people. I cringe to think about it, but at the same time it sounds kind of sweet and innocent – more so than the idea of today’s little girls shaking their money-makers along with Miley Cyrus.

Speaking of work, as I was rather peripherally, it bugs the shit out of me when someone walks in to my office and walks over behind my desk. My office is set up so that I face the door, so it’s quite an invasion of space to join me behind my desk. There is one person at work who does it every time she comes in, and I’m getting so irritated by it I’m almost ready to say something to her. The only other person I can remember ever doing that to me was a young guy at one of my old law firms, who not only came around behind my desk, but tried to give me a shoulder rub. I told him to get his hands off me, and that was that. I wasn’t the only person he acted that way with, however, and not surprisingly he was canned. I’m not suggesting this woman needs to be canned, but she does need to stay away from my frigging desk.

Life Goes On.

A lot of small things have been going on in my small life:

1. I went to Florida for the weekend to visit my dad. He had open heart surgery about three weeks ago, and he is doing great. I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked in the door, but I was scared he wouldn’t look like himself. I was secretly expecting him to look older, thinner, frail; vulnerable. But I walked into the room, and he stood up from his chair, looking just like his same old self, and gave me a hug. Not a bear hug, mind you, as he is more than tentative about anyone getting near his scar, but enough of one that I felt overwhelming relief.

While in Florida, I was able to have lunch with our blogging friend, Broady. We had a very nice visit, and I even found time to have lunch on a balcony overlooking the water in St. Augustine. That’s the second time in 2 months we’ve been able to hang out, so not bad for living across the country from one another!

2. There have been layoffs at my job, and it has been unpleasant and upsetting. People I know pretty well were let go.

3. I got a new car. In the interest of downsizing, I traded in my 2006 Audi wagon for a 2008 Hyundai Santa Fe. I got it “used,” with a whopping 2100 miles on it. It even still smells new. Basically, the only difference between it and a new car is that someone else took the depreciation hit on it for me. I can’t believe it, but I actually like it better than my Audi, and my car payment is HALF of what it was for the Audi.
















4. I’ve been tending to this. As you can see, he is in something of a stage.

When Will I Learn?

Pregnant women are not supposed to make rash decisions, and I just did. In fact, I made the classic fat pregnant woman mistake: I just went in for a haircut at lunch, and instead of getting a nice little trim of my lovely long hair, I chopped it off. It’s a perfectly nice haircut, but all of a sudden I feel like my entire, pregnant self is exposed in a way it wasn’t with long hair. Maybe I was able to hide behind my curtain of long hair, but now everything seems on display. I HATE when I do shit like that.

Escape.

If I weren’t pregnant, I firmly believe I would be putting the full court press on my husband to pick up sticks and move elsewhere right now. For me, “elsewhere” always means London or Paris, and I think he’d be alright with that if it didn’t cost so stinking much money to live there. Of course, it costs a lot less to live there than it does to visit, and soon our currency might be worth so little that we would be doing better if we were paid in euros than we are now. But… it’s not an option.

I did suggest the other day, however, that “wouldn’t it be fun!?” if we rented a house in London for the last month of my maternity leave. It would be a nightmare getting an 18 month old and a 2-month old over there, but once we were there I think it would be great! I could serve up pre-fab dinners from Marks and Spencer every night, and push the kids all around town in their stroller as I “researched” my first novel. I have no idea what this first novel would be about, but it would be set in London and I’d need to know on what corner my protagonist’s favorite Prêt-à-Manger was located.

Of course, this fantasy overlooks some basic facts, such as:

1. It would cost $6 or $7000 to rent a decent, furnished house for a month.
2. Getting around London with a stroller would be horrible. I’d end up spending hundreds of dollars on taxis.
3. The first three months after pregnancy were a little bit of a nightmare for me. Not only did I remain a beached whale/sharpei for rather a long time, I was depressed, confused, and overall not very functional.

Add a toddler to that and I might be spending the last month of my leave in a psych ward. But it’s a wonderful fantasy, and I’ve been trotting it out in my head a lot lately; especially at this time of year where the leaves are starting to change and the evenings are crisp. I love London in the fall.

Maybe we will give it more serious consideration if McCain is elected. Then again, at that point maybe we will really need to start looking for jobs abroad. I know that’s the cry of the over-educated liberal, but fuck it. If it’s an option, why not? It’s not like I’ll be able to tolerate being around the Colorado “moral compass” for another second.

Which reminds me (and really, this is my final non-sequitur of the day): one thing that pisses me off most about the whole Republican vs. Democrat thing is the way that the Republican party paints Democrats as a seething mass of amorality, and themselves as these pillars of righteousness, guided at every turn by the strength of their “morality.” First of all, it’s absolutely absurd to argue that they are “moral” as a group and we are not. Second, just what does “morality” mean, anyway? To the Republicans, it seems to mean a rigid set of rules about what is “right” in a religious sense, and which should in all cases be imposed on everyone else. To me, it means knowing what is “right” in a more fundamental sense, and knowing that the pool of what is right is a lot more broad than what a certain church says. An example might be that the love of another person, given freely and with compassion and understanding, is “right,” regardless of the gender of the lover and the one who is loved.

Er, how did I get there? I guess that’s all I have on my mind these days.

The Days Ahead.

This morning I made the mistake at looking at pictures of myself during my last pregnancy. As I was getting ready for work, I thought that for 17 weeks pregnant I’m looking much better than I did last time. I figured I could give myself a nice boost by looking at my old pictures for confirmation, and so I did. And… it turns out that at 17 weeks I was looking reasonably intact last time, too. But by 24 weeks… not so much. Then, I looked like someone had blown up a body-shaped balloon under all of my skin, but solidly; I looked a bit whalish, if truth be told. So as I shove a chocolate-glazed doughnut into my maw, I realize what’s in store for me. Why does eating everything in sight have to be a part of my personal pregnancy process?

In other news, I bought a ticket yesterday to visit my father, who had heart surgery last week. Apparently everything went very well, and it was surprising to hear him sounding just like himself the next day. I must have caught him at the end of a cycle of painkillers, however, because each time I’ve spoken with him since he sounds rather loopy. Still, it keeps him from feeling the pain of a 67-year old sternum that’s working to knit itself back together, so there you go.

My weekend in Florida will be the first time either R. or I have had an extended period alone with the baby. I know how tired I am at the end of a weekend day chasing him around, so I feel a little guilty saddling R. with 3 nights and 2 full days of it. Still, we’ve got to do it sometime, and I need to see my dad. Too bad the circumstances aren’t better, with me heading off for a weekend in London or Paris (I can’t believe there was a time in my life when that was not uncommon for me.) But despite how bad my last flying experience was, which left me very relieved I had no trips at all in my known future, I’m trying to look at the positive: several hours ALL ALONE, just me and my books and magazines. As long as I can read the words through my tears of panic, which I’m not allowed to smooth away with blessed vodka, it could be rather nice. It’s been an awfully long time since I’ve thought a flight might be nice.

Other Things on My Mind.

I’m having a hard time lately with the whole “working” thing. My brain is everywhere else, and yet it’s needed at my desk, where it’s paid to think about stuff. And by stuff, I don’t mean:

Presidential politics;
Dreaming of winning the lottery;
How my dad’s chest is now wired together;
Why my fingers still smell like garlic from cooking dinner last night;
Why my pregnant tummy just looks like a sloppy beer belly;
How I will starve myself to a size 4 after this baby is born, and
What to name the new kid.

Not one penny of my salary is allocated toward analyzing these things, not even the clearly important issue of the garlic smell. Which, I’ll have you know, comes from a rather nice dinner I prepared last night: chicken breasts with roasted figs, gorgonzola and prosciutto, as well as a lovely, basic risotto – all drizzled with a balsamic reduction. I didn’t take a picture, which is just as well, because it was basically all just kind of reddish, but it tasted great. Who knew a balsamic reduction was so easy to make?

On another topic, let’s talk about the whole Baby Number Two thing for a moment. As you may recall, before I found out that Eeyore was a boy, I had my heart set on having a little girl. A girl was just always what I had assumed I would have, probably because I had never known anything different. I’ve always had a close relationship with my mother, and I wanted the same thing with a daughter of my own. So when it became clear we were having a boy, I cried for a little bit, and then I got over it. Once I actually met Eeyore, I couldn’t imagine him being anyone different; he’s a perfect little person.
















When I got pregnant again, I proclaimed that I would be fine with another boy; in fact, I’d probably prefer it because now I know how wonderful it is. But for some reason, since the beginning I have just felt that this one is a girl. And last week, I found out just how excited I had actually been by that prospect. Unfortunately, I found that out when my doctor told me we are having another boy. “Oh, honey,” she said, “That’s a penis.” “Oh, okay,” I said, and then I burst into tears.

And I’ve had a hard time getting my mind around it ever since. I look at my beautiful son’s open, adorable face, and know that as soon as the new baby gets here everything will fall into place, but for now I’m still mourning the loss of a relationship I’ll never have; just a little bit.

Happy Anniversary to Me.

I realized this morning that it has been three years this month since I started this blog, or at least its predecessor. In honor of that, I thought I'd post one of my favorite old posts today, which is not likely to be one of yours. It's ridiculously juvenile, but I remember laughing when I wrote it and I could use a laugh today, so here you go:

I think it’s safe to say that a good time was had by all!

Huh. “Yankee Swap.” I had never been to one before. It was a very nice party, as parties go, and it was reasonably amusing to have the fake competition over the crappiest shit you have ever seen in one room. Except that there was one woman there who was subconsciously asking me to pull her hair out by the roots and make her eat it. She kept picking this revolting, plug in leprechaun that everyone kept pretending was a “gnome,” and when people would choose it on their round and come to take it away from her, she would cling to it for too long and generally be a bad sport about handing it over. Then she would pick it again whenever she had a chance.

I happened to have chosen a high number, Number 28, and for those of you unfamiliar with the Yankee Swap, that means that my turn came late in the game such that I was permitted to choose from all gifts that had previously been opened. When Number 28 was called, I pretended to look around like I had all this wondrous bounty to choose from. Then I announced that I was going to choose my own gift under the tree, which had yet to be opened. The hostess said, “You are?” I said, “No,” and smiled at the bitch clinging to the fucking gnome; just enough so my incisors pointed out daintily over my bottom lip like the sweetest little fangs. She looked at me balefully.

“I’ll take that,” said I. She clung to it like a life raft. “Pass it over, honey,” I said. She held it tightly, perhaps thinking she looked really cute as she clung to the rotten fucking leprechaun. Everyone was watching us. I reached out and pried the hideous, plastic figure from her grasp. She still held a sweaty piece of paper in her hand. “It’s no good without the instructions,” she said. “Then give me the fucking instructions,” I replied. The party broke up soon after.

My Wheels are Grinding.

Apparently people aren’t so interested in my other blog. I have only the merest trickle of traffic there, which perhaps ought to tell me that not everyone is as up in arms over the state of the nation as I am. I think I’m so focused on politics right now because it gives me something to think and write about that is outside my everyday routine. Because let’s face it; my everyday routine is not only dull, but I’ve pretty much run it into the ground as a topic for discussion. What, am I going to tell you yet again about how I watched CNN from my couch last night? How we wanted to take Eeyore on a walk before dinner but got home too late? How R. and I have barreled into adulthood and sometimes want to cry from the perceived limitedness of it all?

Going to work and raising a child and worrying about one’s parents and finances and future are perfectly normal components of a life, but I’m having a hard time right now thinking of ways to spin them into daily reading material. I can tell you once that my child’s laugh has some strange connection straight to an actual, physical place in my heart I had no idea existed, or that after I give him his bottle before bed he likes to turn over on my chest, hug me and lie there until he falls asleep, so that I never, ever want to get up, but then I’ve told you those things and they don’t really need to be repeated.

All this is why writing about politics is working for me right now, even if it does lead to a very Washingtonian, unhealthy obsession with politics, the media, the whole kit and caboodle. I’ve needed something to write about to try to pull myself out of the torpor I’ve let myself sink into – a catalyst to feeling more involved with the rest of the world outside the protective four walls of our little family home.

A Weekend in Hell.

Have you ever had a weekend where you could have just died and that really would have been OK? This was one of those weekends. I woke up Saturday morning to find Eeyore had had an awful blowout; the kind where you pretty much have to scrub everything within the vicinity of the crib. Thankfully, he seemed none the worse for wear, but I, on the other hand, had some sort of flu. I laid in bed all day long, unable to really move, while R. took care of Eeyore. I couldn’t even watch TV, which is when you know things are really bad. Then, during the night, R. came down with whatever I had, times 2. He spent today in bed while I took care of the baby in a decidedly half-assed manner. When I had a second to think, all I could think about was how I’m behind at work and how I really need to hunker down this week and just work and not piss around thinking about politics or anything else.

But hey – on the upside, my mom is having surgery on her shoulder next week and my father is having open heart surgery – should be a banner week for all. I haven’t been focusing on my dad’s surgery the way I should; I think I am in some sort of denial. It’s a valve replacement and single bypass, which are very common and have a great recovery rate. Still, that’s all well and good when it’s somebody else’s dad. I’m in a very large vortex of Catholic guilt around both of these operations. I know I should be there for both of them, lending moral support – especially for my dad’s. And I’m not, and my guilt tells me my excuses are feeble. I don’t have any more vacation days, we are careening towards the end of our savings, how can I be both places at once so why not neither. I’m just sort of paralyzed – I don’t even check fares because I know they’re high and I think if I don’t look the whole issue will disappear.

I know; it’s screwed up. Believe me. Even if you’ve turned your back on Catholicism, there’s no turning your back on the accompanying guilt.

I feel like I am in the most bizarre state of limbo I cold ever have imagined, and it just keeps going on, and on, and on. It takes me forever to take any action, and I keep waiting for the day when I wake up and know how to behave like a functioning member of adult society again. One who writes thank you notes, returns phone calls, buys plane tickets and deals with family responsibilities outside these four walls. Instead, I have turned completely inward, unable to take care of the simplest things. How is going to get better with another tiny baby on the way?

Well, enough pissing and moaning for one evening. I did start another blog, although I haven’t added anything new to it yet – it’s in my links list.

We All Need a Break Sometimes.

I’ll just tell you: I didn’t even watch McCain speak last night. For once, R. and I were actually in the land of the living, and had people over for dinner. Plus, what did I need to watch it for? I knew how it would go. There would be some smirking, some shoulder shrugs reminiscent of George W., and then some statements about bipartisanship that would stand in glaring contrast to the slash-and-burn, liberals-are-lazy-and-hate-America tone delivered by his “pit bull in lipstick” the night before. And who cares what he has to say? That nightmare with a beehive and tacky glasses will be president within two years, and she already rendered him completely obsolete with her “New Star of the GOP” speech the night before that the pundits are slavering over, so why not just spare myself the boredom?

Not that I’m over it. Au contraire – instead, I’ve decided that I need another blog; one devoted to politics (or what politicians wear, of course). I doubt everyone who comes to this blog wants to read about my liberal-leaning musings, and I’d like a place where I can write solely about politics and another where I can keep writing about anything else I feel like. That still might include describing my desire to beat Sarah Palin around the head with her own peep-toe pump, or it might involve a pie that I bake, but I don’t want to be limited on either front.

So now I just have to find a good name for this other blog, which is never really a fun task. Maybe I’ll call it “Maureen Dowd” just to see if I can bring traffic my way.

Sarah Palin Cows the Media, but Not Me.

I don’t even know where to begin. Sarah Palin’s speech was divisive, belligerent, smug, and at the same time totally lightweight. So why is the goddamned media fawning all over it like it was the best thing since sliced bread? I can see how it was effective for all the people who are already inclined to vote Republican, but I found her completely repellent. After everything I had read about how engaging she is, how personable, how charming, I was expecting to be greeted by someone that I might have a tough time resisting on a personal level, disagreeable though I might find her views. Instead, she seemed dead set on whipping up a nasty partisan frenzy; punctuated repeatedly by her pursed schoolmarm smirk. By the end of her tirade, I loathed her and her “I represent the little people” B.S. with every last boiling blood cell in my veins.

Let’s review:

1. She came out and spent a good 10 minutes introducing her hillbilly family, as if we haven’t read enough about their sluttish and/or unethical escapades (oh, sorry, that’s the escapades of “real families, just like yours”) in the news the last few days. I thought it was particularly charming that the pregnant teenaged daughter’s boyfriend was trotted out on the stage in his Sunday best after the speech, chewing gum like the child that he is. What a nice touch to validate the pre-marital sex that she deplores in order to show what a loving mother she is.

2. Her first “political” statement was to tell America she would be there as a voice for special needs parents in government. While that is certainly a laudable sentiment, positioning it at the top of her speech seemed designed to show what an understanding, sensitive mother she is. Again – fabulous – but perhaps not the most important issue on the country’s agenda this year. And arguably not on hers, either, as the entire Republican Party seemed to take a pass at babysitting poor little Trig during her speech. He was trotted out on the stage at the end, too – couldn’t one of her precious family members have stayed in the hotel room and made sure he was safely tucked into bed, where he should have been at that hour, instead of surrounded by the bright lights and screaming crowd in the arena?

3. Finally, Sarah started the mud-slinging. She compared her own experience to Obama’s, belittling his work as a community organizer and championing her own extensive qualifications as the mayor of a small town as the sine qua non of executive experience. She followed that up with a contemptuous dose of “I don’t trust the liberal elite,” and there you have the substance of her speech.

4. Oh, wait, she did talk a lot about drilling in Alaska as her way to address our energy crisis, so that was pretty useful.

5. Oh, yeah, and then told some lies: namely, that she didn’t support taking federal money to build the “Bridge to Nowhere,” and that Barack Obama never authored a law in Congress.

Ugh, that’s enough. She was nasty, and her speech (along with everything else I’ve heard coming out of the Republican Convention) sought to perpetuate the partisan divide in this country. Contrast that with Obama’s convention speech, in which he enumerated several issues on which the parties traditionally disagree, but on which he believes we can surely find common ground. He spoke about rebuilding a nation that is sorely divided; Sarah Palin sought to drive that stake even further into the ground. The Republican Party seeks to wrap that up even tighter in a soft blanket of sexism – simultaneously sporting their buttons that say “Hottest VP from the Coolest State” while accusing the Demorcats of sexism at every turn for daring to challenge Palin’s qualifications.

And speaking once again of qualifications, if I ever thought there wasn’t a danger she would actually find herself in the highest office in the land, seeing the tiny, waxen figure of John McCain come shuffling out at the end of the speech disabused me of that notion. I think he might already be dead. So watch out, lucky world.

Fun 'n Games in Minneapolis.

For the most part I can leave the charming Sarah Palin alone for the day, since there will surely be plenty to say tomorrow after she makes what amounts to her debut to the American public tonight. It’s only a debut because even though her candidacy was announced several days ago, the McCain campaign thinks it is appropriate to keep her from having to actually sit for an interview where she would have to answer a few questions about herself. Why? Because the “hostile media” clearly has it in for her, so they will bring her out “when the time is right.” I’m sorry, WTF? John McCain thinks this woman is capable of running our country, yet she can’t handle a few pointed questions from journalists? Of all the paternalistic crap I can imagine from the Barefoot-and-Pregnant Party, this takes the cake. Not to mention, for all the disagreements I have with Sarah Palin on the issues, she strikes me as a woman who could more than handle herself in an interview. So cut the nonsense and require her to give one. Jesus.

While I’m throwing a bone to the ladies here, rather than at their heads, I’ll toss another one to Cindy McCain. I feel kind of bad for her. She is clearly a perfectly lovely woman, as long as I don’t get into any kind of political discussion with her, and she never looks like she wants to be anywhere near this mess of national politics. She hangs in the background, looking reasonably chic in her throwback sort of way, and smiles when she needs to. I don’t know if it’s shyness or sadness, though, but there is something about her that seems pretty self-protective and closed in on herself. So, I might say some not-so-nice things here that I extrapolate from her Republicanism, but the truth is I don’t have much of a bone to pick with her other than I don’t want her anywhere near the White House.

Speaking of which, guess who will never be anywhere near the White House, or even Capitol Hill ever again, unless McCain picks him for a Cabinet post? That’s right; Joe “Stick a Fork in Me” Lieberman. Wow – that man is going to be the biggest pariah in town when he gets back to D.C. I can’t believe he had the nerve to stand up there and exhort Democrats to “think” about the choice they have to make here. Sorry, buddy, some of us have already thought about this in pretty great depth, and we decided that this wasn’t much of a decision at all. We aspire for a little bit more than the world your candidate promises to leave us with. And Lieberman’s poor wife, Hadassah, sitting out there in the audience next to Cindy McCain: you can’t tell me she wasn’t sitting there wondering what planet she was on. Did she really sign up for this, too? Maybe she could have taken a page from the Todd Palin book of political spouse behavior and kept her membership in her previous party. Of course, in his case that would be the Alaskan Independence Party, of which he was apparently a member until 2002.

This should be quite an administration.

Sarah Palin: Not the Pick of a Maverick.

I read over and over that John McCain’s choice of Sarah Palin as his running mate highlights once again his “maverick” status, but I can’t see how that is so. How is it “maverick” to choose a running mate straight out of the conservative base of his party? How is it “maverick” to choose a woman as your running mate then sit back and watch as the world is distracted by the soap-opera of her family drama and the continuously evolving list of her potential drawbacks?

Maybe it’s maverick to choose someone who would be singularly unprepared to take the reins when you die in office, but other than that this is all just classic, old-school Republican tactics to me. John McCain didn’t have the strength of his own convictions to pick one of the two pro-choice people he supposedly wanted most as his running mate until it became glaringly clear that the fire-and-brimstone crowd would hang him out to dry if he did so. Instead, without properly vetting his last-minute decision, he offered the iron-fisted evangelicals Sarah Palin on a silver platter, hoping he’d be killing two birds with one stone by choosing a woman for whom lots of independent-minded women surely would leap on board the Straight to Oblivion Express.

Nothing about all this is maverick other than to show just how badly a hastily made decision, one that shows a distinct lack of good judgment, can turn out. Shouldn’t we already know that from 8 years of watching George Bush shoot from the hip, using his own “maverick” style to take us into a needless conflict in Iraq? Don’t we need someone to make decisions for our country that result from genuine, thoughtful reflection, maybe a little consultation with someone other than the Dark Lord of Observatory Circle, rather than someone who keeps us on our inexorable march down this dangerous path?

Oh, the Delicious and Fortifying Juice!

I am deeply offended by the McCain campaign’s assertion that “liberal” blogs were mud-slinging by perpetuating the rumor that Sarah Palin is actually her son Trig’s grandmother and that her daughter, Bristol, is actually his mother. You will note I refrained from mentioning it here, even though you know I was salivating over it here in my living room. I could hardly wait for the national media to get on board. But of course, it was too delightfully salacious and they weren’t going to go there. Apparently fearing, however, that their baser instincts would get to them, much like Bristol’s got to her, the Palins announced today that there’s NO WAY Bristol could be Trig’s mother, because she is 5 months on her way to becoming the mom of some other lucky little devil! See? There’s no way she could have given birth to Trig because he’s only 4 months old, and Bristol’s been knocked up longer, get it? So we’ll take that story for now, but I can’t say that I am fully convinced there isn’t something even fishier going on here.

Either way, it’s hilarious, even if it is “private pain” and all that for the family. A McCain aide says McCain knew about this before he chose Palin as his running mate, and didn’t think it had any bearing on whether she was right for the job. While I agree that the fact that her daughter is a randy idiot teenager has little to do with her qualifications to step into the job of the most powerful person in the world if called upon to do so, which, of course, are nil, I’m still going to go out on a limb and say that there’s no way McCain knew about this in advance. There is no way in your God’s sweet heaven that had McCain known about this total embarrassment that he would have shoved this whole mess into the limelight. The Republicans can sling all the bullshit they want about how wonderful it is that Bristol “chose” to have the baby, and she’s so lucky to have a supportive family, but the bottom line is that this is nothing but an embarrassment and having to pretend it’s lemonade doesn’t change the reality.

As for Bristol’s “choice,” who knows if she actually had one? With Mommy being a pro-life zealot and in the public eye, I can’t imagine she did actually have a choice. Let’s hope she’s happy with having the child and marrying its father, because she’s going to have to live with it for at least 2 years until she can get divorced and take her baby with her to college in New York City, where she can become a liberal feminist author or something to seriously embarrass her parents. Ah, I jest: you can kind of tell from her vacant teenaged expression that she drinks the evangelical kool-aid. You know, except for not having sex before marriage. But at least she made sure that if she was going to do it, she wouldn’t do it without that forbidden contraception!!

One last comment: am I wrong, or does the Republican Convention so far seem like a complete and total mess? It’s like the waiting room of a funeral parlor. At least they got Laura Bush and Cindy McCain out for their joint speech on charity hurricane relief: awful. Sure, it’s a good message and all, but with the shy Cindy belted tightly into her welcome-home-honey frock coat and the frighteningly Joker-like Laura up there delivering the type of speech acceptable for a good 1960’s political wife, all I could see was “this is how the Republican Party truly likes its women.” Of course, the maverick McCain wants to prove us wrong by showing us strong women can run the White House with a rifle in one hand and an unborn child or two in the other, but … I’m not buying it. Maybe he wants her to totally screw up so she will have to pull out, he can take credit for having chosen a woman an an evangelical, then move forward with some other, more mainstream pick?

A Disappointing State of Affairs.

Yesterday we celebrated my child’s first birthday. R. made him a cake, and we blew out his candles for him before he plowed his little hands into the frosting just like millions of kids before him. He didn’t smile much, but he certainly didn’t seem unhappy as he smeared his face, arms and clothes with frosting, and bit into one of his candles. It was our baby’s first major milestone, and I felt very protective of him as we celebrated it.

In fact, I feel very protective generally of my child right now, maybe ferociously so. That’s because frankly, I feel very, very nervous about what could be about to happen in this country in the next few months, and I can thank John McCain for that gift. With his jaw-droppingly reckless choice of a running mate, he has ensured that if he wins this election the freedoms we citizens possess and the stature our country enjoyed in this world before the current administration will be permanently destroyed.

While I’m not McCain’s biggest fan on his own merits, at least he holds some positions that didn’t scare me into next week whenever I thought about the possibility of his being elected. He’s pro-life and doesn’t support gay rights, but it was generally understood that those were topics for which he didn’t care to wade too far into the mire. With Sarah Palin, however, he has brought into the equation a gun-toting “hockey mom” who as a devout, evangelical Christian supports teaching creationism in the schools and is strongly anti-choice. This selection was obviously geared, among other things, to bring the Christian right on board, as they had been making noises about not supporting him. Ms. Palin has brightened their day, however, as evidenced by James Dobson’s statement that he will now pull the lever for McCain. Fabulous! God forbid McCain could have instead held his finger up to notice that the winds of change were trying to blow people together instead of rip them even further apart. With this pick, it seems like as Americans we are now having some sort of monumental, epic battle for our fate. On one side, people desperate to move past the last 8 years to a model of a strong America that values all of its citizens and communicates with its neighbors. On the other, a vocal group that has co-opted the Republican Party so that it’s forced to push this message that all manner of intolerance and interference is appropriate in the name of God.

If this ticket is elected and Old Man McCain croaks on the job, which at his ripe old age is certainly possible, then we’ll find ourselves living in a shitty TV movie. How can anyone in their right mind think that this former frigging beauty queen who has ZERO world experience is an appropriate choice to run this country? It’s bad enough that she stands for all the intolerance and stubborn, backwards lack of thought that I can’t abide, and that if she’s in power she’s going to work to inflict her way of life on me and my children, but worse is the thought of how she would deal with world leaders. What’s she going to do, get pissed off and take her hunting rifle to them? She may be all spunky and whatnot, but that’s not really going to cut it when she has to deal with Putin.

I am just sick about this on so many levels. It takes the level of discourse back from the potential Obama framed in his convention speech of trying to find some common ground even on our divisive issues, to having to account for someone who has inserted a card labeled “Jesus provides an excuse for everything” where her brain should have been. An evangelical NRA member isn’t going to be the type to look for compromise. And she REALLY needs to stop making her speech where she talks about Hillary Clinton’s 18 million cracks in the glass ceiling and how we as women aren’t done yet – don’t insult women who lived the struggle of sexism firsthand by smarmily acting like you earned what you just got. Is she so clueless as not to recognize she is only in her current spot because an old white man saw the opportunity to use her to secure his own power? His choice of a completely unqualified woman as some kind of pablum for women voters anxious to see a woman in high office is beyond insulting. Women supported Hillary Clinton because she was actually qualified to hold the job.

Argh.

Just In: McCain panders to Americans with Vaginas.

Well. As I’m sure you can imagine, I’m not particularly impressed by McCain’s choice of running mate. My first impression upon hearing the news, since I had no idea who she even was, was that McCain is clearly pandering right now. Maybe that sounds sexist of me, but I don’t think he chose her purely on whatever credentials she brings to the table. And then I heard something about her credentials, and my opinion remained the same. Her credentials appear to include being (1) a good old boy conservative, just the kind of asshole you want to smoke a cigar with after a day of hunting innocent animals so you can hang their heads on your library wall, (2) governor of a state not exactly known for its environmental record, or more recently, for its lack of corruption, and (3) looking a good deal like a 1960’s throwback version of Mariska Hargitay. And let’s not forget her stint as mayor of Wasilla, Alaska; I’m sure that really prepared her for any future discussions she might be expected to conduct with world leaders. So it smacks to me of hoping to pick up some disaffected Hillary Clinton supporters who will respect that Ms. Palin has a vajayjay.

I would be really interested to hear the opinion of some conservatives on this choice. Am I totally off base? Does she bring something to the table that conservatives are seeking? I suppose if she is quite conservative that will help placate the farther right wing of the Republican Party, but there are plenty of people who could have filled that role. She is supposedly a “reformer,” so maybe that’s her draw. I don’t know… this just seems like something to surprise with, but not necessarily something that is going to help McCain in the long run. I suppose we shall see.

I noticed this morning that Cindy McCain and Sarah Palin have something in common, and that is the look that each is projecting. As Cindy stepped off the plane with her husband in Ohio, she looked like she had just finished baking some cupcakes for the PTA meeting at little Timmy’s school in the all-white part of town. Sunny yellow dress paired with a white cardigan; her white-blonde hair scraped back in a girlish ponytail. Sarah Palin manages to look more serious than First Robot McCain in her rimless glasses, but in almost every shot I have seen of her so far she has her hair pinned up on her head like she’s off to her mother’s prom. What’s up with that? Not a good sign.

But you know what? Mostly I’m just terribly, terribly disappointed that the Republican Party put a woman on the ticket in what I think is poor faith, and that she represents so much that I don’t believe in. She “supports oil drilling in ANWR, is pro-life and is a devout Christian.” And she pronounces “nuclear” just like George W. Bush does. What more could I ask for in a candidate? A lot. If this ticket wins, this country is done.

Denver Day Four (or, Please Let the Clinton Show be Over).

What are we going to do when the convention is over? R. and I have been fairly well glued to the television every evening, watching our party in turn inspire us and cheese us out. Somehow, I don’t see myself as rapt for the Republican convention, although I’ll surely tune in for some of the bigger names and for the CNN commentary. For me, there’s the contrast of feeling my heart swell with pride to hear our Democratic leaders invoke the party’s ideals, which I see as equality, fairness and compassion for other human beings, and an understanding of the human condition, with the indignant contempt I feel when watching some of the cold-hearted swill I hear pouring from the mouths of the Republicans. Yes, folks, I take a partisan point of view, as you know.

But it’s not as if I don’t see the Democratic Party as having any flaws. For one, our delegates are just as hokey as Republican delegates. Why do so many people feel like they have to dress up like a frigging hog pen at a Fourth of July state fair? Red, white and blue cowboy hats, beanies, and hideous pantsuits; whirring miniature fans attached to their hats, moon faces everywhere. It’s repellent. But the bigger flaw I see is our party’s need to genuflect to the Clintons. Who died and made them kings of the fucking world?

I used to LOVE Bill and Hillary Clinton, and while I can still look back with that feeling on the years when he was president, now they way they run their machine like Mafia bosses is astounding. I was relieved they finally came through for the actual nominee last night, but it wasn’t without first commandeering the whole convention as their own little dog and pony show – will they? Won’t they? They seemed to be doing anything they could to keep the spotlight on themselves, diminishing the glow that should have been focused on the real star of the show. And don’t get me started on these “PUMAs,” the “Party Unity My Ass” group. You know what I have to say about that? Sure you do, because it’s FUCK YOU. How dare you play fast and loose with our country’s future because you’re all pissed off that someone who LOST THE RACE wasn’t anointed despite that fact?

It’s amazing how people can see the same thing so differently. Apparently many Hillary Clinton supporters see the Obama camp as having somehow treated her unfairly, acted in a sexist manner, and generally resorted to the low road to cheat her out of the nomination. I, on the other hand, see the opposite. I’m amazed by how low the Clintons sunk in their bid to crown her Queen, and saw the Obamas as consistently trying to take the high road in spite of it. I’m having a hard time bouncing back from that point of view, so that now whenever I see Hillary speak it’s hard for me to focus on her message. All I can see is her naked desire for power, and her determination not to let anyone, or anything, stand in her way. Believe me, I’m not happy with this state of affairs, because I am a feminist, I used to love her and wanted to continue to do so, and I wanted her to be president. Other than her, I’m not sure I see any female politicians coming up who have what it takes to win a national election, and that is not a good thing. I assume she will get another bite at the apple, particularly if she continues to succeed at helping elect McCain, so I sincerely hope that by then I can get over my very conflicted feelings about her.

In other news, Eeyore turns one year old tomorrow. R. is making him a cake, I’ve got the presents, and we’ll be having a party of three. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to throw a real party when he doesn’t even know it’s his birthday.

Denver for the regular folk.

Really, I should have known. I might have thought we’d glimpse a little piece of the action on our Tuesday night out on the town, but of course anyone interesting was at the convention waiting to hear Hillary Clinton lie about wanting Obama to win the election. R. and I drove downtown for a drink before our dinner at Fruition, a restaurant that receives more accolades than it deserves (if you go, do not order the black cod even though it looks so good... see below). After finding a parking spot well away from where I wanted to be, we looked for a place for a drink. Jax – where I used to love to quaff an apple martini at their concrete bar - private party. The lame bar of the McCormick and Schmick’s across the street – where I would never choose to go on a normal evening - private party for the National Press Club. Since we didn’t have time to walk over to Larimer Square for a drink at the bar at Rioja, which is what I really wanted to do, we made do with the bar at Sullivan’s. Eh. Crowded, but with a lot of suited and booted yahoos like ourselves hoping to see something.

I will say, however, that Denver has a very different vibe than normal right now. For starters, it’s very odd not to be able to park downtown, or have a drink or dinner wherever you’d like on a Tuesday night. It’s also different (and refreshing) to see the streets teeming with people on a summer evening; strolling along the sidewalks or spilling out of the bars and restaurants. Denver actually looks alive. The downside to that is it looks alive with the citizens of Washington, D.C., which means, of course, dressed in the manner particular to that city. Men in navy blazers and khaki trousers (yuck!) and women in sleeveless shifts with a couple of strands of thick pearls knotted up around their necks. These folks were keeping me from my champagne cocktail, along with a bunch of dirtball kids carrying signs with slogans like “Drop pants, not bombs,” which would make any parent proud.

At Fruition, the only sign that anything was going on in town was the table next to us of 3 couples; two of which were in from DC and one of which lived here. The Denver couple were the only ones keeping the normalcy of a conversation going, as all the others could talk about between fiddling with their blackberries and answering their cell phones was what it’s all about in D.C. They were dropping names left and right, discussing stories they were writing, and so on. My thought is that if they were at the restaurant during the main events of the convention, they can’t have been writing any highly sought after stories, but I’m just guessing.

To cap off the evening, I woke up at 2 this morning dreaming of throwing up. And then I did, the foul brine of littleneck clam chowder in my throat, so I can’t say I’m looking at the night as a total success.

Overall, I’d have to say that for me the whole show might as well not even be here. R. and I are home trying to work around chasing our little wombat around the room, and everything is playing itself out on CNN just as it would be if we lived anywhere else. Funny that the whole thing will breeze out of here on Friday morning and it will be like it never happened. Maybe even in the polls, unfortunately.

And so it begins.

I could feel the bilious bubbles of envy burping up in me. I walked over to the 16th Street Mall at lunch, and out and about were all sorts of people with various credentials swinging around their necks. As I passed two guys with such plastic cards flapping around their necks, one said, "He works for the Senator..."

Sigh.

News of the Day and an Unwitting Meltdown.

Well, obviously it’s this whole VP bullshit. I can’t help but think that whoever Obama picks, it’s going to be a colossal non-issue. The media has built up the “unveiling” to such a fever pitch, I think he’d have to pick Jesus Christ to live up to the hype. And among all the flesh and blood potential contenders, there’s only one who could even provoke any interesting discussion, and that’s Hillary. Since the media has written her off, and unless Obama pulls a rabbit out of his hat, who could possibly generate anything interesting to say? So with all that, I’m not sure why this has been built into such a big frigging deal. That said, if it isn’t the dame, I sure hope it’s Joe Biden…

And now I’ll segue to the topic of climbing the corporate ladder. As you may know, I am a commercial lawyer for a company in Denver. There are five or six lawyers in my immediate little group, and until recently I was the most senior as “corporate counsel,” while everyone else had the queer title of “Senior Attorney.” A few months ago, another woman in the group was promoted to corporate counsel, which is fine and dandy (if there’s one thing this legal department is good at, it’s promoting women). However, her promotion and a bunch of over-the-top awards she has received this year seem to have gone straight to her head, and she has managed to secretly alienate others in the group with her now-apparent naked ambition. In group meetings, she often sounds as if she is attempting to run the meetings in conjunction with the head of our group. She now questions the other lawyers’ opinions and judgments in a way she never did before, and her tone is decidedly hierarchical. At first I wondered if it was just me who thought this, and if it was a case of sour grapes because I had been the golden girl in the group until she came along, but I talked about it with another person in our group and learned I wasn’t alone in noticing the transformation.

So what is it that causes some people to act like total shitbags as they claw their way toward the glass ceiling? I’m of the opinion that if my basic work personality, which has gotten me this far, doesn’t work for moving me higher, then so be it. When that’s the case, it’s time to evaluate where you are and either decide you’re OK with it or select something new. What’s to be gained by changing your personality for the worse as you gain some perceived power or position of authority? I just don’t get it. People are already set to envy you when you’re promoted above them, why give them more fodder for their backbiting?

And finally - my husband is going to Breckenridge tonight for a bachelor party. It may just be trailing from bar to bar getting hammered, or there may be naked women involved. Of course he assures me he isn’t the type to “like” that kind of thing, and that really, it just makes him uncomfortable. I believe him, as it’s not as if he ever goes to strip clubs in the regular course of life, and if some stripper gyrates her pelvis in his face and he feels awkward about it, I’ll sure feel so sorry for him for having been put in that situation. But the person I really feel sorry for is me, and all the other wives and girlfriends who have to think about the fact that their husbands are in the same room with naked women other than themselves. I can’t even let myself think about the idea that they could be doing something more than just looking at these women, like getting a lap dance. From what I’ve heard, there are always some jackass guys in a group like this who are revoltingly gung ho and who make it their mission to ensure that the guys who aren’t as into it get their chance at participation whether they like it or not. What if that happens with my husband? Especially at a time when I’m no longer confident about my own naked body, the thought that somebody else would be rubbing up on him with her bare, never-borne-a-child boobs in his face makes me want to curl up in a little ball and bury my head under a pillow.

I know R. has been getting exasperated at me when we talk about this, because there’s nothing he can do about it other than tell me it’s not his thing. But I don’t think there’s any way to truly convey to him what it feels like to have to accept something like this just because it’s often what guys do at bachelor parties. There’s no comparison to women hiring a stripper for a hen party, because for the most part I think that to women that kind of thing is just a joke. There is no real element of sexuality to it. For men, though, and feel free to correct me if I am making an incorrect assumption, there is. I don’t mean for an individual, particular man, but the concept as a whole – it’s a sexual environment. Oh…. I don’t know. I’m sure some people, possibly even my husband, think I’m overreacting, but I can't help the way I feel: ashamed of my own body when I compare myself to the idea I have in my head of some younger, sexy girl naked and near my husband, jealous, and angry for being put in this position of having to be "cool" with it or end up in a fight.

Oh my God, listen to me - I am SO pregnant.