This headline from MSNBC this morning is just embarrassing:
“You have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses.”
The article goes on to reveal the “salacious” details of email exchanges between Governor Mark Sanford and his Argentine mistress. Except it’s not really like that; it’s kind of a sad little tale of someone who has clearly fallen in love. The tone of the emails is romantic and yearning – I half expect these two to have written poetry to each other.
What a disaster. From a political perspective, this is probably the end for the eccentric, conservative governor from South Carolina. Being a Democrat, I’m just as happy to have a Republican presidential hopeful out of the field of competitors. But on a human level, I feel a little bad for the guy. You have to have some pretty extreme emotions to think that as the governor of a state it’s worth the risk of jetting off to frigging ARGENTINA for a week, without telling anyone where you’re going, to be with/break up with your Argentine lover. I’m sure he didn’t expect to find himself in such a situation. But here in the good ol’ United States of America, if you want to be a politician you have to be a little more careful to hide your peccadilloes from the world.
But now he’s learning, if he didn’t already know, that nothing good ever comes from cheating on your spouse. It’s hard to know whether you are following your heart or if you are blinded by infatuation and lust; you can only learn that in the aftermath of your destruction. Because destruction is what happens, isn’t it? Mr. Sanford says he is trying to work things out with his wife, and maybe he will. But this is a pretty bitter pill for her to have to swallow; particularly as it is played out in public complete with the script of her husband’s loving words to another woman. Not to mention the likely end of his political career. That’s a pretty big price to pay for one’s love, or lust, when with a little restraint he could have handled it a lot differently.
Back in my pre-marriage days, I learned a little something about cheating that after a lot of self-examination has crystallized into a strict but easily observed policy of "not for me, thanks."
1. People don’t cheat when they are happy at home. I really don’t think that someone new can just waltz into your life and you are suddenly, magically in love if you are truly committed to someone else. Don’t pretend “this just happened.”
2. If you meet someone to whom you feel a magnetic attraction, force yourself to think before you leap. You’re an adult, you do have that capacity. If you still want to act on your feelings, then you need to end the relationship you are in first. Don’t ever think you can have it both ways, because you can’t. The person you are about to betray will find out, probably because you are going to feel compelled to unload your own guilt by telling them yourself. Then this person who you have loved and who loves you is going to feel that much worse than they would if you had just had the decency to admit you weren’t happy and wanted to end the relationship. And if you are thinking you can just keep it secret and when it’s over you can get back to your real life, well, then… yuck. You’re deluding yourself, on purpose.
Cheating on a spouse isn't for me. The repercussions are just too huge and lousy. Not to mention that if I really wanted to cheat with anyone, it would be my husband; I’ve never met anyone before who was the whole package the way he is. I feel pretty lucky to be able to say that.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Things are pretty cute around our house.
Ian is playing "soccer" now, which is downright adorable. Basically, practice is a bunch of kids running in different directions, some crying and none of them paying any attention whatsoever to each other. I like the picture where Ian looks like captain of this erstwhile "team."
Vanity also requires me to point out that the female leg in the picture is NOT mine.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The freedom to dump my brain in your lap.
I wonder what I was thinking yesterday, posting such a personal fact about myself. I’m not embarrassed about it or anything, but nor is it really something I actively wish people knew about me:
New Acquaintance: “Kate, tell me something about yourself!”
Kate: “I support a woman’s right to choose … I mean, like, REALLY support it.”
NA: “……oh.”
I racked my brain yesterday evening to think if there is anyone I know who reads this blog who would be shocked and dismayed to learn that about me if they didn’t already know, and I think it’s possible there might be one or two. So, if you are one of those people, I’m sorry you had to hear it at all; much less in this forum, where you thought you’d just see some more cute pictures of my kids and read increasingly inane snippets about my hamster wheel of a life.
Enough of that. On to the news.
WORLD NEWS
What do you think is going to happen in Iran? Clearly, the election will not be annulled and Ahmadinejad will, at least for now, remain in power. But what of all the emotion the election has stirred up? That won’t just go away because Iranians have been told to sit down and shut up. People continue to protest, but is life there really bad enough to endure the bloody revolution it would take to … to what? Overthrow the government? Allow women to sing in public or choose not to cover their hair? Put a halt to tyranny? It’s hard to envision how this will play out.
Once again, I am glad to live in a place where, at least for now, we know freedom. Sure, we had eight years there where those in power were working toward something a little more like the Middle Eastern ideal, but thankfully the Puppetmaster and his little monkey didn’t rig the last election and we found ourselves with a human being with a functioning intellect as our president. Let’s not take it for granted, since it's what allows me to write and post this drivel and our global audience (minus our friends in Iran and China, of course) to waste a few minutes of their workdays.
FINANCIAL NEWS
Unbelievably, a couple of old colleagues of mine, one of whom was also a friend (at least in the chummy at work sort of way), have been accused of and will be standing trial for insider trading. Holy christ!
ENTERTAINMENT NEWS
A couple of things:
1. R. and I are going to see Phoenix this Thursday at the Bluebird. Phoenix are an awesome French band that you may have seen (1) on Saturday Night Live, or perhaps (2) sitting around playing guitar in the movie Marie Antoinette (the lead singer is married to Sofia Coppola). Or maybe you just know their music and love it like I do. I’ve wanted to see them in concert for some time, and I can hardly believe they’re playing here in Cowtown!
2. There is a new movie I want to see, which is nice because there hasn’t been a movie I’ve wanted to spend $60 on a babysitter to see for some time: Moon. Have you heard of it? It’s a sci-fi movie starring Sam Rockwell as a mining engineer who for the past three years has been stationed on the moon by his creepy corporate employer, mining a gas for energy use back on Earth. Tangentially interesting, particularly given the subject matter, is that it’s directed by Duncan Jones, who is David Bowie’s son (who changed his name from Zowie Bowie). It looks like an engrossing alternative to all the mindless summer crap that’s out there right now.
New Acquaintance: “Kate, tell me something about yourself!”
Kate: “I support a woman’s right to choose … I mean, like, REALLY support it.”
NA: “……oh.”
I racked my brain yesterday evening to think if there is anyone I know who reads this blog who would be shocked and dismayed to learn that about me if they didn’t already know, and I think it’s possible there might be one or two. So, if you are one of those people, I’m sorry you had to hear it at all; much less in this forum, where you thought you’d just see some more cute pictures of my kids and read increasingly inane snippets about my hamster wheel of a life.
Enough of that. On to the news.
WORLD NEWS
What do you think is going to happen in Iran? Clearly, the election will not be annulled and Ahmadinejad will, at least for now, remain in power. But what of all the emotion the election has stirred up? That won’t just go away because Iranians have been told to sit down and shut up. People continue to protest, but is life there really bad enough to endure the bloody revolution it would take to … to what? Overthrow the government? Allow women to sing in public or choose not to cover their hair? Put a halt to tyranny? It’s hard to envision how this will play out.
Once again, I am glad to live in a place where, at least for now, we know freedom. Sure, we had eight years there where those in power were working toward something a little more like the Middle Eastern ideal, but thankfully the Puppetmaster and his little monkey didn’t rig the last election and we found ourselves with a human being with a functioning intellect as our president. Let’s not take it for granted, since it's what allows me to write and post this drivel and our global audience (minus our friends in Iran and China, of course) to waste a few minutes of their workdays.
FINANCIAL NEWS
Unbelievably, a couple of old colleagues of mine, one of whom was also a friend (at least in the chummy at work sort of way), have been accused of and will be standing trial for insider trading. Holy christ!
ENTERTAINMENT NEWS
A couple of things:
1. R. and I are going to see Phoenix this Thursday at the Bluebird. Phoenix are an awesome French band that you may have seen (1) on Saturday Night Live, or perhaps (2) sitting around playing guitar in the movie Marie Antoinette (the lead singer is married to Sofia Coppola). Or maybe you just know their music and love it like I do. I’ve wanted to see them in concert for some time, and I can hardly believe they’re playing here in Cowtown!
2. There is a new movie I want to see, which is nice because there hasn’t been a movie I’ve wanted to spend $60 on a babysitter to see for some time: Moon. Have you heard of it? It’s a sci-fi movie starring Sam Rockwell as a mining engineer who for the past three years has been stationed on the moon by his creepy corporate employer, mining a gas for energy use back on Earth. Tangentially interesting, particularly given the subject matter, is that it’s directed by Duncan Jones, who is David Bowie’s son (who changed his name from Zowie Bowie). It looks like an engrossing alternative to all the mindless summer crap that’s out there right now.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Tornadoes and other modes of obliteration.
It’s a day before the start of summer, which will hopefully mark the end of a spate of weird, Midwestern weather here in Denver. Over the last couple of weeks, there have been hailstorms and tornados every day; home video footage of which we’ve been shown on the local news each night as one dumbass or another has thought it would be cool to drive right on up to the edge of the swirling funride to Oz.
Sure, it’s a bummer that people’s homes are getting ripped out of the ground, but what irritates me most is that these storms only move in as I drive home from work. It’s nice and sunny all day as I sit in my office, only clouding up and cooling down in time to scuttle our nightly plans to eat dinner in the back yard. Worse, all this rain has meant that we now have mosquitoes, something that we are usually blissfully devoid of here in Colorado. Except for the summer a few years ago when I got the West Nile virus, of course, but that was a rather extreme exception.
Meanwhile, in news from outside the borders of my increasingly dull existence, WTF is going on with North Korea? How is their belligerent boot-stamping going to end well for them? I’m really not sure what their endgame is here – just to show they are a world player because they are so powerful they can create nuclear weapons? Because waving your missiles around every time you want something from the world probably isn’t the best way to get the rest of the world to want to do things your way. Particularly when we can call their bluff pretty much anytime we want to by obliterating them from the face of the planet. Granted, they might take South Korea down with them, which I suppose is what they hope we will not be willing to risk, but I think they overestimate America’s tolerance for their shenanigans. For now, we can continue to swat away their threats like a pesky fly, but that probably won’t be true forever. I wish the Dear Leader would down a bottle of his beloved Courvoisier and drive one of his Bentleys off a cliff and leave the rest of the world, including his starving, tortured countrymen, in peace.
And then there’s Iran. Not surprisingly, I am right on board with President Obama’s approach to the current turmoil in that country: to remain more or less silent on the subject and let Iranians work it out for themselves. I can’t stand hearing the new, cornpone-accented voices of the Republican Party droning on about how Obama looks weak because he’s not making some forceful statement about the situation in Iran. Really? Because all that forceful shit George Bush put us through went down so well on the world stage. And why do we need to say anything when our ongoing political/diplomatic positions with respect to Iran should make it quite clear how we’d like things to turn out? We don’t need to give anyone more fuel for an anti-American fire. I’m not saying anything new here, but it does drive me crazy to hear a few vocal Republicans shouting for more of the same. We have a new president, f-f-f-folks, elected by a large majority of the American people. Can we try his way for a little while?
Sure, it’s a bummer that people’s homes are getting ripped out of the ground, but what irritates me most is that these storms only move in as I drive home from work. It’s nice and sunny all day as I sit in my office, only clouding up and cooling down in time to scuttle our nightly plans to eat dinner in the back yard. Worse, all this rain has meant that we now have mosquitoes, something that we are usually blissfully devoid of here in Colorado. Except for the summer a few years ago when I got the West Nile virus, of course, but that was a rather extreme exception.
Meanwhile, in news from outside the borders of my increasingly dull existence, WTF is going on with North Korea? How is their belligerent boot-stamping going to end well for them? I’m really not sure what their endgame is here – just to show they are a world player because they are so powerful they can create nuclear weapons? Because waving your missiles around every time you want something from the world probably isn’t the best way to get the rest of the world to want to do things your way. Particularly when we can call their bluff pretty much anytime we want to by obliterating them from the face of the planet. Granted, they might take South Korea down with them, which I suppose is what they hope we will not be willing to risk, but I think they overestimate America’s tolerance for their shenanigans. For now, we can continue to swat away their threats like a pesky fly, but that probably won’t be true forever. I wish the Dear Leader would down a bottle of his beloved Courvoisier and drive one of his Bentleys off a cliff and leave the rest of the world, including his starving, tortured countrymen, in peace.
And then there’s Iran. Not surprisingly, I am right on board with President Obama’s approach to the current turmoil in that country: to remain more or less silent on the subject and let Iranians work it out for themselves. I can’t stand hearing the new, cornpone-accented voices of the Republican Party droning on about how Obama looks weak because he’s not making some forceful statement about the situation in Iran. Really? Because all that forceful shit George Bush put us through went down so well on the world stage. And why do we need to say anything when our ongoing political/diplomatic positions with respect to Iran should make it quite clear how we’d like things to turn out? We don’t need to give anyone more fuel for an anti-American fire. I’m not saying anything new here, but it does drive me crazy to hear a few vocal Republicans shouting for more of the same. We have a new president, f-f-f-folks, elected by a large majority of the American people. Can we try his way for a little while?
Friday, June 12, 2009
La la la la la.
I have the attention span of a flea these days, and every time I plan to write something for this blog, my mind skitters off and I can’t complete the thought. So I don’t write. It’s time for me to exercise a little willpower over my gray matter, though, and work to whip it back into some semblance of an adult, functioning brain.
But let’s start slow.
Have you heard of Rue La La? This business has an interesting concept that is clearly designed to get silly women (like me) to buy shit they never needed. Every day their website displays two or three new “boutiques,” each selling one brand of clothing or accessories at heavily reduced prices. Perusing the boutiques (which you can only do if you are a member – how exclusive!), I get the impression that the merchandise isn’t always the most coveted items from a designer’s line. In fact, I wonder if it’s like the January sales in Europe, where in addition to the good stuff the stores are clearly trying to empty their storerooms of the last several years’ worth of crap nobody wanted to buy the first time around. Still, the designers/brands themselves are desirable, including as they have in the last few days Marc Jacobs and 7 for All Mankind, and next week, Tory Burch.
In each boutique there are only a few of each item, and as they are sold a tag under each product proclaims “Only 6 left!” or “Sold out!” All of which lends an air of exclusivity and desirability to the clothes and accessories that they would undoubtedly be lacking on the sale racks. Which is what led me to buy a Marc Jacobs purse without reading the description adequately, because the one I really wanted was SOLD OUT, this one was the shoulder bag version of the one I wanted, and there were ONLY 2 LEFT. I can’t even find a picture of the bag on the internet, it’s so undesirable. Here’s the one I really wanted, which in retrospect was still not wholly desirable:
So I impetuously bought the one so ugly that no one has the energy to photograph or sell it, it arrived, it was indeed the ugly stepsister to the original, and now I can only return it for a credit because it is so exclusive! Live and learn.
In other, equally fascinating news, you should try the recipe on the cover of last month’s Bon Appétit. It is fabulous.
But let’s start slow.
Have you heard of Rue La La? This business has an interesting concept that is clearly designed to get silly women (like me) to buy shit they never needed. Every day their website displays two or three new “boutiques,” each selling one brand of clothing or accessories at heavily reduced prices. Perusing the boutiques (which you can only do if you are a member – how exclusive!), I get the impression that the merchandise isn’t always the most coveted items from a designer’s line. In fact, I wonder if it’s like the January sales in Europe, where in addition to the good stuff the stores are clearly trying to empty their storerooms of the last several years’ worth of crap nobody wanted to buy the first time around. Still, the designers/brands themselves are desirable, including as they have in the last few days Marc Jacobs and 7 for All Mankind, and next week, Tory Burch.
In each boutique there are only a few of each item, and as they are sold a tag under each product proclaims “Only 6 left!” or “Sold out!” All of which lends an air of exclusivity and desirability to the clothes and accessories that they would undoubtedly be lacking on the sale racks. Which is what led me to buy a Marc Jacobs purse without reading the description adequately, because the one I really wanted was SOLD OUT, this one was the shoulder bag version of the one I wanted, and there were ONLY 2 LEFT. I can’t even find a picture of the bag on the internet, it’s so undesirable. Here’s the one I really wanted, which in retrospect was still not wholly desirable:
So I impetuously bought the one so ugly that no one has the energy to photograph or sell it, it arrived, it was indeed the ugly stepsister to the original, and now I can only return it for a credit because it is so exclusive! Live and learn.
In other, equally fascinating news, you should try the recipe on the cover of last month’s Bon Appétit. It is fabulous.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Maybe I should hire Bristol Palin - she's experienced.
My newly found serene, beatifically smiling Madonna thing has been put to the test this morning, and appears to actually have some staying power. Here is the delightful development of my morning:
5:50 a.m.: Ian wakes the house with his crying/whining for Mommy. I stagger into his room, bleary-eyed and furious (in a subdued, edgeless sort of way) to instruct him that he can read in his bed, but that it isn’t time to get up yet. He says, “Poop” and promptly begins his OCD rotation of three pacifiers between his mouth and both hands. “Fuuuuuuu….dge,” I say, hefting him onto the changing table for a foul introduction to the day. I put him back in his crib and repeat my instructions about reading in bed, but he bursts into whiny tears. I tell him that’s how it is, and go back to bed. I lie there unable to sleep because he continues to scream and wail and his room is an unfortunate 10 feet away from ours.
6:25: I return to his room, head pounding, and lift him out of bed.
6:30: The kitchen sink is backed up. We’re going to need a plumber.
6:45: As Ian eats his breakfast, I check my Yahoo email account for the first time since Monday. There is an email from our nanny. She is giving us notice that she is quitting to work full time for the other family she nannies for. She is due at our house at 8:00.
8:00: The nanny arrives and tearfully looks for me to make her feel better about screwing us over. She really, really likes us and thinks Ian is wonderful, so that’s a relief.
I suppose the good news is that a month ago I probably would have blown a gasket over this sequence of events, but this morning I barely even care (other than that Ian really likes our nanny, so that blows). It’s just another set of inconveniences in a life full of them.
Who AM I?
On a couple of completely unrelated topics:
1. I have a book recommendation for you: “In The Woods” by Tana French. It’s an Irish mystery/detective novel – sort of. It’s creepy and well written and it’s one of the most entertaining books I’ve read in awhile.
2. Bristol Palin – WTF? Seriously, what is she doing? She’s wandering around New York promoting abstinence on the tee vee, her grinning monkey of a father in the background dandling the results of her decided lack of abstinence on his knee. This reminds me of the kind of women who have an abortion and then come out the most vocally against it. “Hey, I know I had the freedom to make that choice, but since I regret it so much, it’s obviously wrong and so I would prefer to make that choice for everybody else.” In this case, it’s more “Hey, I sure had fun hooking up with my good-looking but slow boyfriend, but if I publicly proclaim the error of my ways then maybe my mom will still have a chance to bamboozle the remaining Republicans into voting for her for president!” So, not really the same thing after all, but still kind of fucked up.
5:50 a.m.: Ian wakes the house with his crying/whining for Mommy. I stagger into his room, bleary-eyed and furious (in a subdued, edgeless sort of way) to instruct him that he can read in his bed, but that it isn’t time to get up yet. He says, “Poop” and promptly begins his OCD rotation of three pacifiers between his mouth and both hands. “Fuuuuuuu….dge,” I say, hefting him onto the changing table for a foul introduction to the day. I put him back in his crib and repeat my instructions about reading in bed, but he bursts into whiny tears. I tell him that’s how it is, and go back to bed. I lie there unable to sleep because he continues to scream and wail and his room is an unfortunate 10 feet away from ours.
6:25: I return to his room, head pounding, and lift him out of bed.
6:30: The kitchen sink is backed up. We’re going to need a plumber.
6:45: As Ian eats his breakfast, I check my Yahoo email account for the first time since Monday. There is an email from our nanny. She is giving us notice that she is quitting to work full time for the other family she nannies for. She is due at our house at 8:00.
8:00: The nanny arrives and tearfully looks for me to make her feel better about screwing us over. She really, really likes us and thinks Ian is wonderful, so that’s a relief.
I suppose the good news is that a month ago I probably would have blown a gasket over this sequence of events, but this morning I barely even care (other than that Ian really likes our nanny, so that blows). It’s just another set of inconveniences in a life full of them.
Who AM I?
On a couple of completely unrelated topics:
1. I have a book recommendation for you: “In The Woods” by Tana French. It’s an Irish mystery/detective novel – sort of. It’s creepy and well written and it’s one of the most entertaining books I’ve read in awhile.
2. Bristol Palin – WTF? Seriously, what is she doing? She’s wandering around New York promoting abstinence on the tee vee, her grinning monkey of a father in the background dandling the results of her decided lack of abstinence on his knee. This reminds me of the kind of women who have an abortion and then come out the most vocally against it. “Hey, I know I had the freedom to make that choice, but since I regret it so much, it’s obviously wrong and so I would prefer to make that choice for everybody else.” In this case, it’s more “Hey, I sure had fun hooking up with my good-looking but slow boyfriend, but if I publicly proclaim the error of my ways then maybe my mom will still have a chance to bamboozle the remaining Republicans into voting for her for president!” So, not really the same thing after all, but still kind of fucked up.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Cinco de Mayo Clinic.
So here I am, celebrating Cinco de Mayo with an industrial-sized vat of hand sanitizer. You never know who has been feeling up my keyboard in my absence. I can’t imagine the celebrations in Mexico are going to be too festive tonight, with everyone either sitting alone in their houses in mortal fear of their neighbors or daring to go out only to discover that you can’t drink through those paper face masks.
Have you noticed that Americans have a funny way of getting all hyped up over a scare then forgetting about it just as quickly when they aren’t immediately affected themselves? I’m sure the cantinas around this country will be positively heaving tonight with randy youngsters freely spreading saliva all over each other with not even a fleeting thought of their own mortality. But I guess that is what being young and carefree is all about.
I, on the other hand, am no longer young or carefree, and now that I am dosed to the gills I’m not too hyper about anything, either. Yes, the anti-depressants are quite a find. I’ve been pleased to discover that even though I don’t get too down or pissed off about anything anymore, I am still capable of feeling the good stuff. I was worried that Lexapro was going to eliminate both ends of the spectrum, leaving me a lobotomized sack of boredom in the middle, a vacant, grinning automaton in Mom Jeans, but it appears I am still able to get all squirmy with bliss when I nuzzle into my little boys’ necks and laugh out loud during 30 Rock. I remain a little concerned that I’ve lost my ability to skewer unsuspecting objects of my disdain with my own nasty barbs, but if that’s the cost of having a more peaceful mind, I’ll take it for awhile.
I wonder, is this what other people feel like all the time? Well, probably many people do since so many of us take these drugs, but what about the people who are just sailing through life without a prop? Why do so many of us feel “off,” harboring enough anger and sadness to justify fucking with our brain chemistry? Is it something that has appeared only in more modern times, with all its fast-paced, over-achieving loneliness, or is it instead simply inherent in humanity? Maybe even Jesus and Gandhi could have benefited from an SSRI.
Have you noticed that Americans have a funny way of getting all hyped up over a scare then forgetting about it just as quickly when they aren’t immediately affected themselves? I’m sure the cantinas around this country will be positively heaving tonight with randy youngsters freely spreading saliva all over each other with not even a fleeting thought of their own mortality. But I guess that is what being young and carefree is all about.
I, on the other hand, am no longer young or carefree, and now that I am dosed to the gills I’m not too hyper about anything, either. Yes, the anti-depressants are quite a find. I’ve been pleased to discover that even though I don’t get too down or pissed off about anything anymore, I am still capable of feeling the good stuff. I was worried that Lexapro was going to eliminate both ends of the spectrum, leaving me a lobotomized sack of boredom in the middle, a vacant, grinning automaton in Mom Jeans, but it appears I am still able to get all squirmy with bliss when I nuzzle into my little boys’ necks and laugh out loud during 30 Rock. I remain a little concerned that I’ve lost my ability to skewer unsuspecting objects of my disdain with my own nasty barbs, but if that’s the cost of having a more peaceful mind, I’ll take it for awhile.
I wonder, is this what other people feel like all the time? Well, probably many people do since so many of us take these drugs, but what about the people who are just sailing through life without a prop? Why do so many of us feel “off,” harboring enough anger and sadness to justify fucking with our brain chemistry? Is it something that has appeared only in more modern times, with all its fast-paced, over-achieving loneliness, or is it instead simply inherent in humanity? Maybe even Jesus and Gandhi could have benefited from an SSRI.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
SGO
So, a few things.
1. It is supposed to snow here again tomorrow; 8-12 inches. Excuse me, WTF? It is mid-April, and it was in the low 70's the first 3 days of the week. Now, granted, Eeyore does look cute as pie in his little boots that are not even close to being snow boots but are good enough to totter around in for one's first experience in this world of "nooooooo!" (snow), but it's practically summer, for Christ's sake.
2. I've been doped up for a week now, and although I've read you're not supposed to really be able to tell for 2 or 3 weeks, my impression is that the happy candy is working. I don't exactly feel like myself anymore, as I have not gotten truly mad or even particularly irritated ONE TIME all week. Even in traffic, which is probably a first for me. I mean, I am the queen of giving the finger when I should not, and spewing a long list of the foulest profanities at someone who dares to drive the speed limit in front of me.
This is not actually me on the user-friendly Lexapro, but rather me ... drunk. It's a while ago; who can afford to get drunk when she'll have to get up and feed a baby in the night? But you get the idea.
3. I joined Weight Watchers today. Not my idea of a good time, but it was time to be proactive. I've been working out and eating pretty well, but I haven't lost a pound in 5 weeks. I'm not sure how that can be, but apparently it's not uncommon for oldsters like me who have their second baby. I look like I am sporting a terribly unattractive beer gut. I will spare you any representative photo of THAT.
1. It is supposed to snow here again tomorrow; 8-12 inches. Excuse me, WTF? It is mid-April, and it was in the low 70's the first 3 days of the week. Now, granted, Eeyore does look cute as pie in his little boots that are not even close to being snow boots but are good enough to totter around in for one's first experience in this world of "nooooooo!" (snow), but it's practically summer, for Christ's sake.
2. I've been doped up for a week now, and although I've read you're not supposed to really be able to tell for 2 or 3 weeks, my impression is that the happy candy is working. I don't exactly feel like myself anymore, as I have not gotten truly mad or even particularly irritated ONE TIME all week. Even in traffic, which is probably a first for me. I mean, I am the queen of giving the finger when I should not, and spewing a long list of the foulest profanities at someone who dares to drive the speed limit in front of me.
This is not actually me on the user-friendly Lexapro, but rather me ... drunk. It's a while ago; who can afford to get drunk when she'll have to get up and feed a baby in the night? But you get the idea.
3. I joined Weight Watchers today. Not my idea of a good time, but it was time to be proactive. I've been working out and eating pretty well, but I haven't lost a pound in 5 weeks. I'm not sure how that can be, but apparently it's not uncommon for oldsters like me who have their second baby. I look like I am sporting a terribly unattractive beer gut. I will spare you any representative photo of THAT.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Expect a cheerier me.
I had my 6 week post partum check up today, and it won't likely come as much of a surprise that tonight I join the legion of medicated Americans as I pop my first 5 mg of Lexapro. It turns out new mothers don't necessarily need to feel as overwhelmed and irritable, as concerned that I will never truly enjoy my life again, as I do. There just might be way for me to actually enjoy my life right now, as it is.
I've long been interested in taking an antidepressant, but I've fought it because of worries about side effects, or just a thought that the part of my personality that makes me "me" might disappear - leaving me interchangeable with any wash-and-go soccer mom in Kansas who wears high waisted jeans (and not because she saw them in Vogue) and button-down shirts. The time has come, though, to take the risk and give it a try. The possibility that a happy, relaxed me could be around the corner is too enticing, and I'm tired of thinking that the best years of my life are behind me or at best unavailable to me again for at least the next 4 or 5 years.
As for side effects, I am definitely a little worried about the sex thing - I can't really afford a loss of libido when it's hard enough to create an environment conducive to grown-up activity in a tiny house full of little boys, toys, laundry, and increasingly, dirt. What I'm telling myself, though, is that if anything, this could have a positive effect on my love life: a happier and more relaxed Kate is a Kate that will be more willing to spend time on the fun stuff when I find myself with an unexpected 15 minutes than to try to finish folding all the baby clothes still sitting on the dining room table 24 hours after removal from the dryer. My doctor even affirmed it had that effect on her when she had to go on it after her second child, so there you have it!
I took my first pill half an hour ago; I'll be interested to see if I have any of the unpleasant effects my doctor told me to look for (lightheadedness, nausea).
I've long been interested in taking an antidepressant, but I've fought it because of worries about side effects, or just a thought that the part of my personality that makes me "me" might disappear - leaving me interchangeable with any wash-and-go soccer mom in Kansas who wears high waisted jeans (and not because she saw them in Vogue) and button-down shirts. The time has come, though, to take the risk and give it a try. The possibility that a happy, relaxed me could be around the corner is too enticing, and I'm tired of thinking that the best years of my life are behind me or at best unavailable to me again for at least the next 4 or 5 years.
As for side effects, I am definitely a little worried about the sex thing - I can't really afford a loss of libido when it's hard enough to create an environment conducive to grown-up activity in a tiny house full of little boys, toys, laundry, and increasingly, dirt. What I'm telling myself, though, is that if anything, this could have a positive effect on my love life: a happier and more relaxed Kate is a Kate that will be more willing to spend time on the fun stuff when I find myself with an unexpected 15 minutes than to try to finish folding all the baby clothes still sitting on the dining room table 24 hours after removal from the dryer. My doctor even affirmed it had that effect on her when she had to go on it after her second child, so there you have it!
I took my first pill half an hour ago; I'll be interested to see if I have any of the unpleasant effects my doctor told me to look for (lightheadedness, nausea).
Monday, April 6, 2009
Six weeks.
Alex is six weeks old today, and I am about 400 (give or take). This shit is aging me at a rapid clip. It is incessant. If one of them is napping, the other one is eating (Alex)/screaming (Ian)/pulling my hair (Ian)/twisting the baby's leg (Ian)/grinning while committing some previously unpracticed violence (Ian). Yes, I have a textbook toddler who despises his adorable little brother and takes every opportunity to show it. I guess it's fairly classic; any attention is better than no attention. Although we still shower him with love and affection and the 3000th reading of Goodnight Moon, the interloper takes his share as well and that is apparently unacceptable. I don't know what I would do if Alex wasn't the sweet little guy that he is - two babies on overdrive would send me to an early grave.
But there's lots of good news, too:
1. I am still fat.
2. My company is in the news as rumored to be looking to sell the business unit I support.
3. No vacations planned until June 2010.
I really should have done this at 25 and gotten it over with.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Down the rabbit hole.
Oh, hi.
If you've been wondering where I am, it's a neat little place called HELL. If you'd like to try it sometime, may I recommend the path we took: add one newborn baby to a household already bursting at the seams with the ego and toys of one 18-month old, stir, and voila. It's that easy. These seemingly innocuous ingredients combine like a high school chemistry experiment, resulting in complete and utter chaos. No sleep, tantrums, depression, brain death. And yes, that's just me.
I am so tired I could vomit, and right now both kids and I have a horrible cold. R. and I are each operating on 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, none of it acquired in one stretch. The baby is fussy, and the toddler hates having him around. To show his displeasure, he has arrived at the "terrible twos" a few months early.
All this adds up to wondering why we subjected ourselves to this. Do I love them? Yes. They are pretty cute about half the day. The other half of the day is pretty rough, and when viewed through the lens of serious sleep deprivation it's even worse. I am seriously considering anti-depressants.
If you've been wondering where I am, it's a neat little place called HELL. If you'd like to try it sometime, may I recommend the path we took: add one newborn baby to a household already bursting at the seams with the ego and toys of one 18-month old, stir, and voila. It's that easy. These seemingly innocuous ingredients combine like a high school chemistry experiment, resulting in complete and utter chaos. No sleep, tantrums, depression, brain death. And yes, that's just me.
I am so tired I could vomit, and right now both kids and I have a horrible cold. R. and I are each operating on 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, none of it acquired in one stretch. The baby is fussy, and the toddler hates having him around. To show his displeasure, he has arrived at the "terrible twos" a few months early.
All this adds up to wondering why we subjected ourselves to this. Do I love them? Yes. They are pretty cute about half the day. The other half of the day is pretty rough, and when viewed through the lens of serious sleep deprivation it's even worse. I am seriously considering anti-depressants.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Newest addition to the planet.
Having a baby is a surreal experience. The part that makes it coolest:
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
38 weeks and counting with the small portion of my brain that is still operational.
I’ve got my head down and I’m plowing through the days until my role as landlord is through. This little person is sapping so much from me at this point that each morning when I wake up to find I’m still pregnant I can scarcely believe it. How did I not go into labor in the night? He clearly wants out – he knocks on the inside of my stomach like he’s rapping on the door of a house: “Let me out, damn it!” Walking is painful and to be avoided, as my joints are all stretched out and achy and the baby has dropped low into my pelvis. I waddle like a duck. I only have a few shirts that even cover my belly at this point, which protrudes much more than it ever did with the first one. I feel like shit – no glow here – and I am mentally through with this invasion of my body.
And yet … nothing.
Anecdotally I know this is always the way it goes; you don’t think there is any way you can tolerate another day, and the baby still isn’t born for 4 more weeks.
So in anticipation for the big day, whether it comes today or on schedule for the 23rd, I’ve been keeping myself busy:
1. Familiarizing myself thoroughly with the entire HGTV lineup so that when I am burrowed deep into the couch for the first 8 weeks of Alex’s life, sobbing, I’ll have home renovation to focus on instead.
2. Leafing through magazines.
3. Practicing the alphabet with Ian so that he has some knowledge to build on before he loses the individualized attention for the rest of his life.
4. Marveling at how swollen my legs get – like my stomach, how does the skin not just pop open like a roasted bird?
5. Reading myriad diet books in anticipation of needing to lose 50 pounds – yes, FIFTY. Hopefully, most of that will just come off on its own in the first couple of months, as it did with my first pregnancy (how? Physically I don’t really get that), because the prospect of dieting is so fucking dismal I can hardly bear it. And of course, I have my 40th birthday promise to be healthier but also easier on myself, so a strict diet doesn’t necessarily fit in there. To that end, I think I have settled on some version of the “Best Life Diet,” the Bob Greene diet that really focuses more on embracing a healthy lifestyle than rigid self-denial.
So, a lot of really interesting stuff.
But here’s something cute.
And yet … nothing.
Anecdotally I know this is always the way it goes; you don’t think there is any way you can tolerate another day, and the baby still isn’t born for 4 more weeks.
So in anticipation for the big day, whether it comes today or on schedule for the 23rd, I’ve been keeping myself busy:
1. Familiarizing myself thoroughly with the entire HGTV lineup so that when I am burrowed deep into the couch for the first 8 weeks of Alex’s life, sobbing, I’ll have home renovation to focus on instead.
2. Leafing through magazines.
3. Practicing the alphabet with Ian so that he has some knowledge to build on before he loses the individualized attention for the rest of his life.
4. Marveling at how swollen my legs get – like my stomach, how does the skin not just pop open like a roasted bird?
5. Reading myriad diet books in anticipation of needing to lose 50 pounds – yes, FIFTY. Hopefully, most of that will just come off on its own in the first couple of months, as it did with my first pregnancy (how? Physically I don’t really get that), because the prospect of dieting is so fucking dismal I can hardly bear it. And of course, I have my 40th birthday promise to be healthier but also easier on myself, so a strict diet doesn’t necessarily fit in there. To that end, I think I have settled on some version of the “Best Life Diet,” the Bob Greene diet that really focuses more on embracing a healthy lifestyle than rigid self-denial.
So, a lot of really interesting stuff.
But here’s something cute.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Moving forward.
I have really allowed myself to wallow in the mire for some time now. Sure, a few months after Eeyore was born I dragged myself to a “butts and guts” class at the gym twice a week, and went out for the occasional drink with friends, but other than that I have permitted myself to live in a constant state of self-pity and with a whining lack of self control. “Everything is so haaaard,” I have said to myself and others, “how do people ever get it together with little children?” I have abdicated responsibility for myself, pretending I am a puppet whose strings are yanked by the universe, and I am really, really tired of it. It is an unsatisfying way to live.
Now I am about to turn 40, and it finally occurred to me that I could use that as a catalyst for positive change in my life. While the issues I would like to address are basic, I have allowed them to take on such a monumental, mythic role in my life that addressing them will take a real commitment; a commitment that an adult of 40 ought to be able to make. I’d like to have a little more strength of character than I have shown in the past in making some decisions about myself and sticking with them.
So what do I want to do with this resolve I will somehow find deep within myself? Well, like I said, it’s basic. I just want to learn to take care of myself, so that I can feel physically and emotionally healthy, and like I am in control of my life rather than the other way around. That encompasses three main goals:
1. To eat better and get enough exercise to have a healthy, fit body that feels good to live in.
2. To somehow corral the whirling mess of stress, apathy and childishness I have cultivated in my life and bend it forcibly into submission. I’m not dumb enough to think I can get rid of it completely, but I’m hoping that by accepting the need to partially live in the moment and partially set some rules as to how I can do a few things for myself first, I can reach a happy balance.
3. To be kinder to myself. No one is a bigger bully to me than I am. In addition to not criticizing myself for all my perceived physical imperfections, that also means not beating myself up if I go another year, or forever, without writing a book or doing something else I had decided would give my life worth meaning. I need to recognize the meaning in my life as it is.
Don’t I sound terribly New Age? I’m the farthest thing from it; I just want to enter my middle years with a little more purpose than I’ve shown in the last few years. My late 20’s and early 30’s were lived purposefully to the extent that I arranged an interesting international career and lifestyle for myself, but for much of my late 30’s I have been a little lost at sea. My career became somewhat less glamorous, and of course my previous blog chronicled my less than satisfying romantic adventures. Now my life is completely different with a gorgeous fireball of a husband and (almost) 2 children, and it seems like it’s time to figure out a way to embrace my new existence with a little more backbone than I’ve exhibited thus far.
Now I am about to turn 40, and it finally occurred to me that I could use that as a catalyst for positive change in my life. While the issues I would like to address are basic, I have allowed them to take on such a monumental, mythic role in my life that addressing them will take a real commitment; a commitment that an adult of 40 ought to be able to make. I’d like to have a little more strength of character than I have shown in the past in making some decisions about myself and sticking with them.
So what do I want to do with this resolve I will somehow find deep within myself? Well, like I said, it’s basic. I just want to learn to take care of myself, so that I can feel physically and emotionally healthy, and like I am in control of my life rather than the other way around. That encompasses three main goals:
1. To eat better and get enough exercise to have a healthy, fit body that feels good to live in.
2. To somehow corral the whirling mess of stress, apathy and childishness I have cultivated in my life and bend it forcibly into submission. I’m not dumb enough to think I can get rid of it completely, but I’m hoping that by accepting the need to partially live in the moment and partially set some rules as to how I can do a few things for myself first, I can reach a happy balance.
3. To be kinder to myself. No one is a bigger bully to me than I am. In addition to not criticizing myself for all my perceived physical imperfections, that also means not beating myself up if I go another year, or forever, without writing a book or doing something else I had decided would give my life worth meaning. I need to recognize the meaning in my life as it is.
Don’t I sound terribly New Age? I’m the farthest thing from it; I just want to enter my middle years with a little more purpose than I’ve shown in the last few years. My late 20’s and early 30’s were lived purposefully to the extent that I arranged an interesting international career and lifestyle for myself, but for much of my late 30’s I have been a little lost at sea. My career became somewhat less glamorous, and of course my previous blog chronicled my less than satisfying romantic adventures. Now my life is completely different with a gorgeous fireball of a husband and (almost) 2 children, and it seems like it’s time to figure out a way to embrace my new existence with a little more backbone than I’ve exhibited thus far.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The worm has turned.
Here we are on a new day, with our new, inspiring president. The worm has turned; to me the country feels like a completely different place than it did even at 11:59 a.m. yesterday. It’s as if the pall we have been smothering beneath has been lifted, or like an invigorating, positive wind is blowing the stench of the decaying evil of the last administration out of our streets and homes. Goodbye, George Bush, you malevolent fool; enjoy clearing out the brush at your ranch while we clear out the destruction you and Dr. Evil have wreaked on this country (does anyone else think Cheney looks even scarier in his wheelchair?).
The Obamas started their day today with a prayer service at the National Cathedral, which is apparently what new presidents do on their first day in office. As Cindy noted in her most recent post, this follows an inauguration day saturated with prayer services and invocations and benedictions and all sorts of religious crap that seems so out of place in a country founded on the idea of separation of church and state. I personally find it offputting, but as long as nobody forces me to go to church or live my “life in Christ,” I will go with the flow. But… did you hear the pastor who gave the sermon this morning!!?? He had one of the creepiest voices I had ever heard, and if I had been Sasha or Malia, I would have been giggling uncontrollably in my pew.
Ah, Washington. I do think back on it so fondly, having lived there for a total of about 10 years. I lived and went to school near the National Cathedral for a few years in middle school and high school, and went back for law school and a few years of practice after that. My own memories of the cathedral are not quite as lofty as will be those of the politicians and their families who attend; rather, my friend M. and I used to meet there after dinner in the summer to smoke cigarettes and look out over the city from the cathedral gardens. Or, I would walk by it when I took the bus back up Wisconsin Avenue from Georgetown after an afternoon spent hanging around the clearly gay clerk at Commander Salamander (“I’m sure he’s just bi; I think he was flirting with me!”) and sitting in the window booth at Roy Rogers drinking a Coke and smoking yet more cigarettes. Yes, that was a LONG time ago.
I can’t believe it’s been 10 years since I moved away from D.C. to London; I know it has really changed since then. I’ve been back a few times to visit friends over the years, and each time I’ve been amazed by the number of new restaurants and new “up-and-coming” neighborhoods. Something tells me that my next trip back there, however, which will likely be to introduce two small boys to the wonder of the Air and Space Museum, won’t provide me with the opportunity to see the Washington I’d like to see – which, honestly, is one that represents the kind of engagement with a city that it’s hard to have anywhere with small children. I think – but then I’m not the most talented when it comes to integrating the concepts of children and continuing to experience an intellectually and culturally stimulating life. I need some lessons in that.
The Obamas started their day today with a prayer service at the National Cathedral, which is apparently what new presidents do on their first day in office. As Cindy noted in her most recent post, this follows an inauguration day saturated with prayer services and invocations and benedictions and all sorts of religious crap that seems so out of place in a country founded on the idea of separation of church and state. I personally find it offputting, but as long as nobody forces me to go to church or live my “life in Christ,” I will go with the flow. But… did you hear the pastor who gave the sermon this morning!!?? He had one of the creepiest voices I had ever heard, and if I had been Sasha or Malia, I would have been giggling uncontrollably in my pew.
Ah, Washington. I do think back on it so fondly, having lived there for a total of about 10 years. I lived and went to school near the National Cathedral for a few years in middle school and high school, and went back for law school and a few years of practice after that. My own memories of the cathedral are not quite as lofty as will be those of the politicians and their families who attend; rather, my friend M. and I used to meet there after dinner in the summer to smoke cigarettes and look out over the city from the cathedral gardens. Or, I would walk by it when I took the bus back up Wisconsin Avenue from Georgetown after an afternoon spent hanging around the clearly gay clerk at Commander Salamander (“I’m sure he’s just bi; I think he was flirting with me!”) and sitting in the window booth at Roy Rogers drinking a Coke and smoking yet more cigarettes. Yes, that was a LONG time ago.
I can’t believe it’s been 10 years since I moved away from D.C. to London; I know it has really changed since then. I’ve been back a few times to visit friends over the years, and each time I’ve been amazed by the number of new restaurants and new “up-and-coming” neighborhoods. Something tells me that my next trip back there, however, which will likely be to introduce two small boys to the wonder of the Air and Space Museum, won’t provide me with the opportunity to see the Washington I’d like to see – which, honestly, is one that represents the kind of engagement with a city that it’s hard to have anywhere with small children. I think – but then I’m not the most talented when it comes to integrating the concepts of children and continuing to experience an intellectually and culturally stimulating life. I need some lessons in that.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Chow chow chow!
It’s a Purina Dog Chow kind of day in Denver. This is primarily because there is a Purina dog chow factory along the highway north of the city, so that when the wind blows the wrong way the distinctive smell of dog food (mmmm!) fills the air of the entire city. But it also seems like days when the smell is the worst are winter days where the skies are low and cloudy, and the city looks like a dirty, industrial wasteland no matter what part of town you’re in. Then it just seems fitting that there should be a gross smell that permeates everything. Yes, today’s that kind of day.
On a similar note, I am tired of wearing black all the time, but that’s all I have in my pregnancy wardrobe these days. I hope I can drop enough of this weight by summer to be able to wear some of my old clothes that were sewn by small children using colored fabric again. One problem I foresee: will I ever wear shorts again? This pregnancy has given me a terribly unsightly case of spider veins on my legs; the kind I used to see on women and think, “Oh…my…god. Could you not get that taken care of? They have procedures for that, you know.” And yes, in fact, they do, but the procedures are not cheap and you have to have to have several of them to really get rid of the purple nasties. That would be fine if that were the only procedure I needed as a result of carrying two Tasmanian Devils inside my body for 9 months each, but frankly, I need enough surgery to turn me into the Bionic Woman after all this. Ideally, I could use:
1. Spider vein zapping.
2. A boob job.
3. Liposuction
4. A tummy tuck.
5. A teensy-tiny face lift (Mama’s TIRED).
However, I don’t want more scars and I don’t want to have to re-up on the boob job every 10 years (or look like that woman who has face lifts to look like a man-cat), so I think I might be stuck with whatever I can get out of sporadic, half-hearted diet and exercise over the next 5 years. I hope I can evolve into one of those women who loves herself no matter how she is, reveling in her battle scars because she is a “Mother,” and not the petty, typical American woman I am who is completely obsessive about no longer having the 120-pound figure she had in college – which was 20 years ago and which she has never had since (except a couple of times when she was depressed and the year’s meals consisted of cigarettes and increasingly good bottles of chardonnay). Ah, body image – what a fucking waste of time.
Meanwhile, here is my exciting calendar of upcoming events:
1. February 23: Birth of second son
2. February 27 – May 10: post-partum depression/acclimation to larger family and re-acquaintance with soap opera families from hollowed-out spot on couch
3. March 4: 40th birthday of yours truly; holy SHIT. Previous plans for Maui trip scuppered for hopeful outing to Sushi Den for raw fish and a martini (if I can walk)
4. Eternity stretching before me
5. June 2010: Sister in law’s wedding on east coast, flight with 2 kids (example of change in type of trips; BEFORE = Paris, AFTER = Family, USA)
6. February 2012: Hopeful return to semblance of normalcy; celebratory trip with husband
A packed schedule!
On a similar note, I am tired of wearing black all the time, but that’s all I have in my pregnancy wardrobe these days. I hope I can drop enough of this weight by summer to be able to wear some of my old clothes that were sewn by small children using colored fabric again. One problem I foresee: will I ever wear shorts again? This pregnancy has given me a terribly unsightly case of spider veins on my legs; the kind I used to see on women and think, “Oh…my…god. Could you not get that taken care of? They have procedures for that, you know.” And yes, in fact, they do, but the procedures are not cheap and you have to have to have several of them to really get rid of the purple nasties. That would be fine if that were the only procedure I needed as a result of carrying two Tasmanian Devils inside my body for 9 months each, but frankly, I need enough surgery to turn me into the Bionic Woman after all this. Ideally, I could use:
1. Spider vein zapping.
2. A boob job.
3. Liposuction
4. A tummy tuck.
5. A teensy-tiny face lift (Mama’s TIRED).
However, I don’t want more scars and I don’t want to have to re-up on the boob job every 10 years (or look like that woman who has face lifts to look like a man-cat), so I think I might be stuck with whatever I can get out of sporadic, half-hearted diet and exercise over the next 5 years. I hope I can evolve into one of those women who loves herself no matter how she is, reveling in her battle scars because she is a “Mother,” and not the petty, typical American woman I am who is completely obsessive about no longer having the 120-pound figure she had in college – which was 20 years ago and which she has never had since (except a couple of times when she was depressed and the year’s meals consisted of cigarettes and increasingly good bottles of chardonnay). Ah, body image – what a fucking waste of time.
Meanwhile, here is my exciting calendar of upcoming events:
1. February 23: Birth of second son
2. February 27 – May 10: post-partum depression/acclimation to larger family and re-acquaintance with soap opera families from hollowed-out spot on couch
3. March 4: 40th birthday of yours truly; holy SHIT. Previous plans for Maui trip scuppered for hopeful outing to Sushi Den for raw fish and a martini (if I can walk)
4. Eternity stretching before me
5. June 2010: Sister in law’s wedding on east coast, flight with 2 kids (example of change in type of trips; BEFORE = Paris, AFTER = Family, USA)
6. February 2012: Hopeful return to semblance of normalcy; celebratory trip with husband
A packed schedule!
Friday, January 9, 2009
Time to move to Vermont.
Boy, am I glad I don’t live in the Middle East. That part of the world is fucked up, no two ways about it. If you’re just a regular person trying to live your life in peace, you can forget it. Angry people have the upper hand. There is always someone pissed off about his chunk of land, or about you having any rights outside of what his affiliation deems fit (you know, because they are a mouthpiece of God), and they like nothing more than to launch a few rockets or cut off your head to make a point.
Of course, not every country in the Middle East has the same M.O. when it comes to maintaining 15th century mores and/or ending other peoples’ lives, since some are more “civilized” than others. In Iraq, local angry people make DIY explosives to blow up cars, Americans, Iraqis from different sects, and unlucky marketgoers. Israel, as an example of a more modern nation, uses full-scale warfare to bomb the shit out of Gaza. It’s entitled to do that, you see, because Hamas had been fucking with it for a really long time. Also, it is really entitled to do that because of the Holocaust. Atrocities committed against the Jews are license for any kind of action in the protection of Israel’s borders.
Yes, I know it’s politically incorrect to be American and not be a hard-line supporter of Israel, but I’m not. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not pro-Palestine either, although I think both sides have some valid arguments, particularly after the way the Palestinian people have been treated throughout the history of the conflict, and I would never discount the horror and magnitude of the Holocaust. It is simply my opinion that two wrongs do not make a right, and in my view raining down bombs on innocent people who “happen to be in the way” is a wrong. When I read in the paper about relief workers who were not let into Gaza in a timely fashion, only to discover once allowed a house where several small children were standing, weak with hunger, around the corpses of their dead mothers – I know I am reading about something wrong.
I recognize the naiveté in wondering why we have to have violence in the world, but the rationale truly does elude me when I don’t feel the capacity for violence in myself. Nothing good comes from it, unless when employing it to defend against it, I suppose. But that begs the question of the need for the initial aggression. “Human nature” is a sad excuse for the atrocities men have committed against each other throughout history, particularly when societies have gone to great lengths to codify laws that deem such individual actions to be aberrational behavior. If rape and murder are crimes in everyday life; why are they suddenly an acceptable aspect of human nature in the context of geopolitical aggression?
Ah, power. Man’s greatest excuse for all.
Of course, not every country in the Middle East has the same M.O. when it comes to maintaining 15th century mores and/or ending other peoples’ lives, since some are more “civilized” than others. In Iraq, local angry people make DIY explosives to blow up cars, Americans, Iraqis from different sects, and unlucky marketgoers. Israel, as an example of a more modern nation, uses full-scale warfare to bomb the shit out of Gaza. It’s entitled to do that, you see, because Hamas had been fucking with it for a really long time. Also, it is really entitled to do that because of the Holocaust. Atrocities committed against the Jews are license for any kind of action in the protection of Israel’s borders.
Yes, I know it’s politically incorrect to be American and not be a hard-line supporter of Israel, but I’m not. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not pro-Palestine either, although I think both sides have some valid arguments, particularly after the way the Palestinian people have been treated throughout the history of the conflict, and I would never discount the horror and magnitude of the Holocaust. It is simply my opinion that two wrongs do not make a right, and in my view raining down bombs on innocent people who “happen to be in the way” is a wrong. When I read in the paper about relief workers who were not let into Gaza in a timely fashion, only to discover once allowed a house where several small children were standing, weak with hunger, around the corpses of their dead mothers – I know I am reading about something wrong.
I recognize the naiveté in wondering why we have to have violence in the world, but the rationale truly does elude me when I don’t feel the capacity for violence in myself. Nothing good comes from it, unless when employing it to defend against it, I suppose. But that begs the question of the need for the initial aggression. “Human nature” is a sad excuse for the atrocities men have committed against each other throughout history, particularly when societies have gone to great lengths to codify laws that deem such individual actions to be aberrational behavior. If rape and murder are crimes in everyday life; why are they suddenly an acceptable aspect of human nature in the context of geopolitical aggression?
Ah, power. Man’s greatest excuse for all.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I am your sponge.
How does one learn not to let another person’s moods affect her? After all, they are the other person’s moods, so why should there be a correlation between another person’s shitty mood and a nosedive of my own? When someone I interact with a lot is in a foul mood and I am not, I can feel that person’s funk cozying up to the bottom of my own mood, hooking its clammy tentacles into any crevices it senses, and giving it a good, sustained tug. It’s almost a physical feeling in my head – like my good mood fills my skull but the erosion from the bottom pulls it down to somewhere around my eyes. I feel like I am trying to hoist my full body back above the top of it again to regain control, but the other person’s mood is stronger than my will to stay cheery and next thing you know I’m fucked. My mood is in the toilet.
How do you avoid that? Shouldn’t my mood be my mood, yours be yours, and so on? Is everyone like me, or can most people maintain their individuality a little better? Tips appreciated, just like at all the counters where employees were once expected to do their work for their wages instead of for the spare change customers are now guilted into adding to the already enormous tally (e.g., change from your overpriced latte).
How do you avoid that? Shouldn’t my mood be my mood, yours be yours, and so on? Is everyone like me, or can most people maintain their individuality a little better? Tips appreciated, just like at all the counters where employees were once expected to do their work for their wages instead of for the spare change customers are now guilted into adding to the already enormous tally (e.g., change from your overpriced latte).
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