It's all about ME

Spider-Man

2012-07-27T19:12:00.000-05:00

A while back when I read about a remake of Spider-Man coming so soon after the Tobey Maguire as Spider-Man movies, I was skeptical. I enjoyed the Sam Raimi directed movies, the second one especially (third one not so much), and enjoyed the cast enough to question the wisdom of replacing it already.

Well, I am here to admit that I was wrong. Whoever at Sony had the vision to start anew and turn over the franchise to Marc Webb deserves a cut of the profits. Webb has made a career of directing music videos; he has under his belt only one feature film, though it was a lovely independent movie. Choosing him for this big budget, high expectations movie was a gamble that paid off.

The Amazing Spider-Man is one of the most solidly entertaining movies I've seen in a while. It has it all: good story and pace, tension, escapism, action, romance, humor, great cast, and a dash of schmaltz. If I watched it in slow motion and analyzed the timing of every plot element I'd undoubtedly spot curious jumps of logic, but I have no desire to do that. It's just solid entertainment. The movie involved me from beginning to end. I would watch it again. I'm glad I didn't wait until it came out on dvd. There aren't many movies I'd say these things about.

I had worried that Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone, now aged 29 and 24 respectively, would require imagination to see them as high school students Peter and Gwen, but I was wrong about that too. Whether through lighting, makeup, good direction on body language or what, they looked perfect. (If I may take umbrage with one thing in the movie, it's Gwen's work attire; high school student worker wearing thigh high stockings with a mini skirt, leading a tour of interns at a high falutin' genetics company? I don't think so. That was a choice for eye candy, pure and simple.) The supporting cast includes Sally Field, Martin Sheen, Rhys Ifans, and Denis Leary (and a minor role by C. Thomas Howell).

This isn't a film just for particular groups or interests; it's for everyone. If you like movies, you'll enjoy The Amazing Spider-Man.

Scout This

2012-07-27T12:40:00.001-05:00

This was originally posted, in a shorter form, on my facebook page, with a link to a news story about Mike Huckabee and the Boy Scouts of America's anti-gay stance.

There are things in life I do not understand; some of them I can learn to understand. However I will never understand the irrational fear of people of the same gender having sex. Homophobia defies logic. What threat does a lesbian hold over me, just because she prefers to make out with another woman instead of a man? Answer: none.

Recently Boy Scouts of America reaffirmed a policy of disallowing openly gay scouts and scout leaders. It took them two years to foolishly renew their support for this policy of homophobia, and it diminishes an otherwise good organization that does important work. As was expected, the decision drew cheers and jeers. Unfortunately, one might also have expected the justification offered by some, an entrenchment in the belief that adult homosexuals who want to work with young people are somehow thus pedophiles (an insulting and logic defying notion, to say the least).

This idea was brought up, for example, on Mike Huckabee's radio show by a caller who said he had been molested as a child and thus felt keeping gays out of scouts was the right decision. I am deeply saddened for the caller, but would prefer that he direct his anger and grief at the real culprits instead of at gays. Sexual molestation is a horrible violation of power and trust, something that is too often hidden and corrosively damaging to the victim's life.

But let's be clear about this: having a sexual predilection (paraphilia) for children (pedophilia), which when acted upon is termed sexual molestation, is in no way, not even remotely, related to or the same as having a sexual predilection toward a person of the same gender. Anita Bryant and Save Our Children gained nationwide attention for their hateful views on this matter back in the 1970s. I am saddened by the fact that so many still hold onto the belief, which only serves to divide, hurt, and hold us all back.

I assume that many supporters of the Boy Scout policy base their position on institutionally sanctioned disapproval of homosexuality. Religious groups for example seem to elevate the significance and saintliness of human capacity for procreation above other instincts (being fruitful and multiplying comes before being good to our neighbor, it would seem). This doctrinal opposition to homosexuality, rooted I think in a drive toward survival in the many uneasy, superstitious times humans have lived in, is at least something I can understand. Sort of. That is, I get where tradition and significant cultural institutions have a deep hold on us. We don't particularly understand why we believe many things, we just do and those beliefs are reinforced through culture. It's poweful stuff and takes a strongly inquisitive nature or a barrier breaking incident to move toward another belief system (for better or worse). In this case what I don't get is why being lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or questioning of one's identity is deemed punishable. Or why it would make anyone a less effective Boy Scout. Ah, such are mysteries of life. If only they were a bit less hateful and tragic.

Anyway, I would have liked to encourage my son to become a Boy Scout. Positive leadership and character development is wonderful, important, and lacking in too many young people's lives. The camaraderie that can be gained from engaging in shared pursuits is also fantastic. I can only hope that the inclusion of gays issue is revisited in the four years before my son becomes eligible, and that the irrational fear is finally let go of. It's a long shot, but worth aiming for. For the sake of all boys.

P.S. In case you were wondering, as I was, what the Girl Scouts of America stance is on LGBTQ members, I would point you to the rather informative webpage put together by "100 Questions for the Girl Scouts," a group of folks clearly opposed to GSA's position and alleged partner/donor organizations. They also have a page titled "The Girl Scouts and Radical Feminism." Now that's a scouting experience I can really get behind!

Personal Touch

2012-03-21T20:11:00.001-05:00

NOTE: In an effort to cut back on the parenthetical asides within this (admittedly long and rambling, but also occasionally amusing) post, I've decided to use endnotes. I like to think they add something to the piece. Enjoy.

Personal Touch
Call it surveillance of the enemy (0), but I bought lunch for my child and I at McDonald's today (1). For myself I purchased a chicken sandwich (2), the requisite french fries (3), and iced tea (4). For the child I ordered a Happy Meal: chicken nuggets (5), a kid size portion of fries, packaged apple slices, and 1% milk (6).

As we sat at the table eating I noticed the bottom of each bag had a name and date printed on it. 16 FEB 2012 JESUS M. said one, and 08 FEB 2012 RON T said the other (7). A quick check on the web yields no definitive explanation for this bag naming, though the logical consensus is that the name represents a worker at the plant where the bags were made (8) and not, let's say, McDonald's employees (9). It reminded me of the Saturn car manufacturing practice wherein a worker would sign the finished car, taking credit as well as tacit responsibility. I can see such a show of pride in workmanship on cars, which the average worker is not likely to have churned out in the millions during any given pay period. But, paper bags?

It reminds me of a new practice at Safeway. For a month or so, at the end of each checkout process, when the cashier handed me the receipt, they would point out a note near the bottom, indicating I, as a super special customer of theirs, was entitled to the manager's direct phone number. The cashier would tell me to call if ever I needed anything (10). I guess they figured they'd been thanking me by name (11) long enough that they could finally give me their number.

I've never used that number, but it appears on my every Safeway receipt now (they've stopped pointing it out, thank goodness) (12). I have a feeling the store could not handle call volume if everyone who has the manager's number decided to call every time we had an idea or issue. But Safeway takes that gamble because they know that the act of giving the number generates loyalty, and loyalty sustains business. Because I've been encouraged to make contact with the manager, I will feel a closer bond to that business, even if I never do (13). I understand that. It's a manipulation of me (14), yes, but at least it is partially meant to encourage me to talk to someone. This name-on-a-bag thing is a more troubling manipulation. I'm sure it's meant to sway me in some way. But sway me for good or evil?

Wouldn't it be fabulous if the names were placed on the bags as part of some experiment? I love a good social experiment (assuming no is hurt during the study, duh.) If that were the case, I would totally feel better about eating at McDonald's (15). But if this practice is actually more widespread, then it's probably a paper industry validation/pride thing. Which brings me back to manipulation.

Jesus and Ron had a part in bringing this paper bag into my life. I have mixed feelings about this. I am thankful that they helped create a convenient carrier for my food (16). Because I've seen names and dates of (presumably) real people, I wonder about their working lives, the satisfaction they gain from producing something (17), and the pride they feel when someone gets "their" bag. But they were undoubtedly not the ones who decided to implement this practice of putting names on the product. The desire to communicate pride in one's work is an idea generated long ago (18), and it might be put into practice in various industries, but let's be honest. The names would not be there if it didn't improve--or have potential to improve--the bottom line. There are dollar signs dotting the "i"s in those names (19).

In the paper industry there is an added problem with regards to PR. Jesus and Ron work in a troubled field, dependent on natural resources, increasingly reliant on recycling and environmentally minded consumers. And so I wonder, am I meant to think that because a person was involved in the making of this bag, that I need think less about the source material for paper products the world over? After all, a human touch might offset some of the anonymous malaise that accompanies modern life. In short, am I being manipulated by a few names on the bottom of a bag?

Okay, now that I've gotten all of that off my chest, I'll close simply by saying: check the bottoms of your paper bags. Are they named? If yes, cool. Why do YOU think the name is there? Hopefully you've gotten good use out of the bag (20). Great, now...move on. If there's one thing I've learned from my exploration into names on bags, it's that I really need to move on.

Thanks for reading. TTFN (21)

ENDNOTES
0. Just call me a hypocrite. I can take it.
1. Adding to the environmental damage of my choice, I will admit I used the drive through service for this--in my MINIVAN. Go ahead, shame away.
2. My so-called "premium chicken sandwich" was made from what appears to be actual chicken breast meat, though I realize this could be very cleverly processed chicken parts. I don't live in delusional land.
3. Seriously, why go for fast food if you're not having fries? Though apprently my kid didn't get the memor, because he ate only a small portion of his, having devoured the chicken in mere seconds. And while I'm confessing, I'll tell you it took a good amount of willpower not to order regular Coke to go with my fries, because it seems like McDonald's coke is extra tasty. Again, shame away.
4. I mistakenly received McD's nasty version of sweetened tea one time. Never again. I was clear on this jaunt to assert my desire for UNsweetened iced tea.
5. I wish my child's chicken nugget pieces were not made with pink slime or any other mechanically separated meats which represent all the problems of industrial agriculture wrapped up in a cheery box.
6. Have you noticed how often kid meals come with either 1% (white) milk or nonfat chocolate milk? As if the lack of fat in the milk makes up for the addition of sugar, etc in the chocolate variety. When I see a menu that offers 2% or whole milk for kids, I give a little clap.
7. One name had a period after the last initial, and the other did not. One was in red ink, and the other was black. Both were printed in all caps.
8. The question about names on the bottom of McD's bags was posted on multiple "answer this" type message boards. More than a few respondents assert that the names represent specifically the supervisors at these plants.
9. Many alleged McDonald's employees were unaware there were names on the bottoms of the bags, if Internet message board postings are to be believed.
10. I was tempted at the beginning to ask whether the store would like to babysit my child for an hour or two while I peruse trashy magazines, or barring that, give me free ice cream, but I didn't.
11. My first and last name are printed on my grocery store receipt because I use a customer loyalty number under that name, and habitually enter the number each time I shop. David uses the same number, which is in fact a long defunct phone number, and so he is called "Mr. Eugeni." Everyone at our house at the time used the same number. In fact, if you're ever at Safeway and recall my old Palo Alto home phone number, feel free to enter it. Let's mess with the shopping-habit data mining folks. I wonder if the person who's been assigned that phone number curses my name every time s/he tries assigning it to their grocery shopping account, or thanks me for freeing them from having their personal habits tied to their name.
12. I was tempted once. Deciding to do my shopping on a Thursday evening around 8pm I was shocked to find by the time I was ready to check out, there was only one checker on duty, and no manager in sight. I told the checker she ought to call for backup, and she said this was standard practice to have only one checker, and that there was always a long line. She quipped "Don't worry. I'm a fast checker." I'd been to the store other evenings and had never noticed the line running the full width of the checkout area, as it was that night, so maybe it was an aberration, but still. Any manager worth his badge ought to jump in and lighten the load for a checker working her tail off, at least for a few spells, and the manager ought to tell the checker under what conditions to call for just such an assist. And that doesn't mean "Never." I told the checker she deserved better, that she was indeed very fast, but for customers to wait nearly an hour to get through checkout at 8:30pm was not acceptable. I heard grumbles of agreement, but nobody made a fuss otherwise. Everyone was just anxious to get out of there. I ought to have called that direct line number, that night to complain to the night manager, and the next day to speak to a general manager, but I didn't. I'd worked myself into a frenzy, and I know calling at that moment would have been counter-productive. The next day my frenzy had died down, and I moved on. But sure enough, the next time I went to the store around that time there were two checkers. So I like to think my complaint registered on some level, and that I was not alone in feeling it. But I digress...
13 Here's a research article about the statistical relationship between service personalization and loyalty, which is indeed shown to be positively related, meaning one grows with the other, and that together they increase a business' profits.
14. I generally despise being manipulated, or feeling like I'm being manipulated, which sort of means I'd rather be kept in blissful ignorance of external controls, but so be it. As you see from my trip to McDonald's in spite of awareness of all the evils the industry represents in a healthy world, I am not perfect.
15. Assuming McDonald's had granted permission for this, let's face it, imaginary experiment, of course.
16. For the record, good work, Jesus and Ron. The bags held up well through the filling/transport/emptying process and thus fulfilled their functions. You have not signed your names to a faulty product.
17. Paper bag manufacturing workers are probably not making anything with their hands, which is too bad, in terms of deriving satisfaction from one's creations. I've not studied it, but my hunch says pride in one's work is greater when the work is by hand.
18. Pride in one's work is important to job satisfaction, which makes it a worthy and good thing to promote, don't get me wrong as I rail against being manipulated.
19. Though obviously no dollar-dotted "i"s in the case of Jesus and Ron in terms of the writing, and maybe, possibly in real life too. I simply don't know what motivates these gentlemen, if they are gentlemen. Oh dear, there's so much I'm assuming here. Danger signs should be dotting my "i"s.
20. If you don't need the bag for anything else, consider making a puppet out of it. The puppet is pre-named, so you can use that as inspiration. I picture Jesus as having short hair, a tattoo with his daughter's name on his arm. Ron, he's older, wears glasses, wears a white t-shirt under his work shirt.
21. Ta ta for now. As in, I'll be back another time. :)

Community

2012-03-20T19:32:00.000-05:00

There are few things that I believe could make more of an immediate positive impact on society than if a greater percentage of people got involved in their communities. The following list is from a poster entitled "How to build community." I'd love to make this list into a series of bumper stickers, and wrap them around a car. Or place them in public spaces. There are a few I'm not sure about* but for the most part it's a brilliant list of suggestions.

Turn off your TV
Leave your house
Know your neighbors
Look up when you are walking
Greet people
Sit on your stoop
Plant flowers
Use your library
Play together
Buy from local merchants
Share what you have
Help a lost dog
Take children to the park
Garden together
Support neighborhood schools
Fix it even if you didn't break it
Have potlucks
Honor elders
Pick up litter
Read stories aloud
Dance in the street
Talk to the mail carrier
Listen to the birds
Put up a swing
Help carry something heavy
Barter for your goods
Start a tradition
Ask a question
Hire young people for odd jobs
Organize a block party
Bake extra and share
Ask for help when you need it
Open your shades
Sing together
Share your skills
Take back the night
Turn up the music
Turn down the music
Listen before you react to anger
Mediate a conflict
Seek to understand
Learn from new and uncomfortable angles
Know that no one is silent although many are not heard. Work to change this.

* Dancing in the street might be a quick way to meet the neighbors, and have them assess me for craziness. On the other hand, if I saw a group of kids dancing, or if dancing was incorporated into a street party, that would be a fantastic sight.
* Another one I wonder about is putting up a swing. We've had a baby swing hanging from a sturdy tree branch next to the sidewalk in front of our house for a year and a half, and not one person walking down the sidewalk has even appeared tempted to slide their child into it, as inviting a setting as it might be. Then again, maybe if I posted a sign...

Alive

2012-03-20T16:54:00.010-05:00

In the immortal words of Bill the Cat, "Ack!!" It's been 10 months since I last published anything to my blog. Since you probably keep up with me on facebook (or, wonder of wonders, in person) you'll know this is not an indicator of my death or lack of things to comment on.

I am sorry to neglect my blog. I love writing, and I have loads of ideas. In fact, I've begun many, many posts. Today the arrival of a new phone book inspired me to begin (yet another) draft. It was a comparison of today's facebook stalking to what I used to do as a kid.

The arrival of each year's new phonebook (back when there was only one) brought on a frenzy, as I'd look up as many of my classmates' surnames as possible and locate them on a local map. Bike rides became tours, like a locals/youth-oriented version of Hollywood star maps. But the phonebook had so much more than addresses (and phone numbers, naturally). There was that big reference section, the page edges colored red (government agency pages were always blue). I recall when they greatly expanded that reference section to include maps of local sports venues, illustrated first aid instructions, etc--what a joyful development that was. Oh how I loved perusing an updated reference book.

Riveting, right? Yeah, well, that's all I've got. There's no point, no deep message. And so the "Publish" button is not pushed. But it will be. Soon.

There are some movie reviews I need to write (most recently I saw the 1970s throwback spy story Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and the lovely, gut wrenching The Descendants), a rather odd exercise/efficiency/sex/self help advice book to discuss (The 4-Hour Body by Tim Ferriss), and several vacation spots to share (this one that's a thousand dollars a day of tranquil fantasy vacationing in the Maldives, and a long-contemplated return trip to the Italian region of Le Marche, the home of my paternal ancestry). News of Anthony Shadid's death was one of many sad stories in the last 10 months; I'd recommend listening to his 2011 interview on Fresh Air for an example of Shadid's thoughtful, engaged reporting style.

I can't believe I never posted a recap of my experience with the Seattle 3-Day for the Cure walk, which was 6 months ago, so that's certainly overdue as well. And speaking of Susan G. Komen, there's my dusty soapbox sitting in the corner, waiting to be brushed off. Let's see, I could work up a good rant about the wealth gap, public education funding and community priorities, and all this ridiculous political posturing over who pays for contraception (and what it means, as if it means anything other than women taking care of themselves). Then there's the ongoing crisis in Syria, which receives too little coverage in the US news (imho). Finally, let's not forget election season, which is always ripe for a passionate venting (though lately I've been trying to avoid election news, as it gives me chest pain to listen to debates and political talk shows).

Hmmm, all very interesting. Hopefully I get to one of these topics before another 10 months go by. Care to wait with me?

White elephant

2011-05-16T23:05:00.007-05:00

According to Wikipedia:

A white elephant gift exchange is a popular holiday party game found primarily in North America. It has many variations in both the name and the game play. Generally, white elephant parties need a minimum of six participants. With a larger group, game play may be more protracted. White elephant parties have been known to result in intensely vicious and/or playful rivalries between players trying to get sought after gifts. The goal of a white elephant party is usually to entertain rather than to gain. This game is sometimes called a Yankee Swap, Chinese Gift Exchange, Dirty Santa, Thieving Secret Santa, or Parcel Pass.

I hardly ever get invited to gift exchange parties (why that is might be the subject for another post). When I have participated in a gift exchange, it's been during the end of year party season, which is half the calendar away at present. So naturally a few ideas for budget-limited gifts percolated to the top of my thoughts today. Because I am likely to forget these ideas by the time the next white elephant challenge presents itself to me, I thought I'd post them here for reference.

1. THE PURELY SILLY GIFT: USB Pet Rock, $9.99 from ThinkGeek.com. As the retailer name would indicate, this product is targeted at tech geeks, particularly those between the ages of 35 and 45 (aka children of the 1970s). I love that it's compatible with every operating system, past or future, and draws no power.

2. THE ARTFUL FOODIE GIFT: Artisan flowering tea, $9.95 from Stash Tea. For ten bucks you get two tea packets. This specialty product requires an appreciative audience, or else your money is truly wasted. Drop a packet into a glass bowl (or glass tea pot, if you've got one of those lying around) and pour hot water over it. Watch as the packet unfurls into some arty shape. So you get a lovely pot of tea on two counts.

3. THE GENERIC READER GIFT: A copy of a bestseller (look at NYT or Amazon lists). This may seem boring, but chances are someone in the crowd is going to want the book, and you can leave the party feeling your gift won't go to waste. Right now I'd pick comedy writer/actress Tina Fey's memoir Bossypants or the yet-to-be-released parent-sympathy book Go the F**k to Sleep by Adam Mansbach. Depending on the dollar limit, I might throw in a pair of fuzzy socks or other comfort object to round out the "relax for a while" vibe of the gift.

4. THE INDULGENT EATER GIFT: Gourmet marshmallows, such as a 4 ounce bag of vanilla Plush Puffs for $6. Years ago we received a hot cocoa kit as a gift, which came with mugs, hot chocolate mix, some peppermint swizzle sticks and several enormous square marshmallows. I'm not much of a marshmallow fan, but these were delicious, absolutely melt in your mouth smooth puffy deliciousness. I'd happily share such joy with another. Package a bag of Plush Puffs with a container of Ghirardelli hot cocoa mix or some graham crackers and chocolate bars and you've got a delectable present.

4. THE ELUSIVE BOARD GAMER GIFT: Anything within price range from Mayfair games. What I'm sensing in my gift ideas list are an assortment of items I'd like to take home for myself. This particular gift idea, a semi-cerebral board game, would identify for me the person or people in the crowd whom I could later hit up to invite me over for a night of gaming. Maybe it would be such a success that we'd decide to schedule regular game nights. A gift that would keep on giving. :)

PS If you ever receive one of these gifts from me, I hope you like it. If not, you know you can always return it to me. :)

Out of Favor

2011-04-25T15:25:00.004-05:00

Not that you asked but...
Thirty years ago this spring my mother traveled around Europe on a lengthy visit while her husband was there on business. She got to experience a grand tour and came home bursting with stories, mementos, and grand memories she continues to recount. My brother and I stayed home with our grandmother, disappointed that we couldn't just take a few months off of school to join her. I was sure a trip to Europe would be far more educational, but my wishes were not fulfilled. Instead I was soothed with fabulous souvenirs--a colorful zippered pencil case with the latest fancy writing tools from Germany, an assortment of original Smurf toys, and photobooks of exotic places like Sussex and Koln. As a girl of 9-nearly-10 I treasured one thing more than most of the others (that pencil case was pretty awesome): a little book about the history and engagement of Lady Diana Spencer to the big-eared Prince of Wales.

Fast forward a few months. One sunny summer day I boarded an airplane to fly across the country. I was an unaccompanied minor who was boarded first and taken off the plane last. I was traveling that day between home and my grandparents' house in the mountains for a summer vacation. Added on to the airport time would have been an additional four hours of travel, to get door to door. Add it all up and you get a full day's travel. This also means I spent a full day away from the television.

Do you see where this is headed?
I missed the wedding of Lady Di and Prince Charles. Since the event occurred in the era before vcrs, dvrs, and the internet, I didn't even have a chance to watch it after I got home. I just never saw it. I recall feeling disappointed but not heartbroken. Nonetheless, this combination of anticipation brought on by a foreign souvenir and the unfulfilled attachment to the associated event has created in me an irrational interest in the upcoming wedding of Prince William.

Since the Will-Kate engagement was announced I've looked forward to getting a dose of pageantry, tradition, and celebrity spotting all in one viewing. Recently I've watched maybe a tad too much of BBC America's pre-wedding specials. I read about the mystery of Kate's wedding dress, looked over the guest list, and pondered all of the uneventful downtime and obnoxious hype that will come with viewing the event "live". But one detail eluded me in all of this: the actual date of the wedding.

Which brings me to my final factoid: I'm driving to Las Vegas this weekend. In order to beat the heat, make good time, and arrive early enough to nap before any evening activities, I plan to leave in the middle of the night. I'm looking forward to this vacation, but--

I think you see where this is headed--
I will miss the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. While the guests are arriving, I will be driving away from my metropolitan area. When the ceremony itself takes place, I will be looking out at crops and cows. While morning media personalities rehash every last detail and editors cut specials for that night's primetime lineup, I will be in the desert.

While I do own a dvr, and have scheduled it to record the wedding, I'm not sure I will end up watching it after I return. I know from experience that I don't enjoy watching events after the fact. Which might be just as well, since I think this is all a sign that I'm not meant to watch royal weddings. I am meant, instead, to have a life, where pageantry is overrated. Oh well. :)

Easy on the Cops

2011-04-16T16:09:00.000-05:00

I don't LOOK for these kinds of news stories. They just jump out at me...

I peruse the police blotter section of my local newspaper. Usually out of curiosity about types of crimes being committed, partly out of a sense of wanting to know if there's anything I might be cautious of in my own neighborhood, but mostly in search of amusingly benign reported incidents.

For the past two weeks, Atherton--a wealthy, privacy-guarding, no-sidewalks community 30 miles south of San Francisco--has delivered. Today came news of an early morning incident between a landlord and tenant which involved frozen food. No crime was reported, and no violence actually evidenced. But the police department participates in the crime blotter report, and they were called out for this incident, therefore it gets printed in the paper. The actual food was not specified, so we are left to ponder details. David guesses a leg of lamb was involved. I suppose we'll never know.

Last week's "crime" provides more fodder for the imagination.

12:19 am FRIDAY: A pedestrian was reported not to be doing anything strange other than wearing black pants and a white dress shirt while walking at an odd hour.

Kinda makes me feel bad for the Atherton police that this is what their honored profession works out to. On the other hand, it sure beats being shot at.

Excess Baggage - now updated!

2011-04-16T15:06:00.001-05:00

Not that you asked, but...
I am a terrible packrat.

Can anyone think of any earthly reason--and I mean a good, healthy one--why I have held onto a Sanrio notepad containing only two drawings made during my 6 month stint living in Georgia in 1980? Did I mention that the cover is torn off and the pages are falling out? What about a wall map of the world, dated 1955? Or the homecoming football game program from my sophomore year of high school? No? Neither can I.

While some people have the admirable ability to shed belongings, and others don't accumulate them in the first place, I hold onto things, even when reason and practicality dictate letting go. In particular I have kept a tight grip on an assortment of physical manifestations of my childhood. I've held onto things from adulthood too, but these tend to come in the form of books, music, and furniture, which seem more useful, even if more costly to transport.

My formative years are packed away for the most part in a stack of covered plastic tubs. Labeled "Michelle's Mementos", the tubs contain a hodgepodge of meaningful and superfluous objects. There's my Mrs Beasley doll (still in decent shape after nearly 40 years), a trophy for MVP of the 8th grade softball team (my winning was I believe a matter of favoritism rather than talent), a wood penguin coin bank made for me by my friend's sister in 1986, and a delicate ballerina cake topper from my 5th birthday at my grandparents' house in New York.

In some of these tubs I expect I'll find my Girl Scout sash with badges pinned rather than sewn on (mine was not a very domestic household), a finger painted and stuffed fish constructed in pre-school, an assortment of writings (7th grade was a particularly prolific period), toys (Adam has taken a shine to the soft Teletubbies keychains, but I've not let him near Super Nut), and small knick knacks.

The fact that the stuff is in distinctive containers is evidence of progress made a decade ago. As tends to happen with memento purgings, I have no recollection of anything I got rid of back then. (And how the Sanrio notepad survived, I know not. I'll blame it on purge-fatigue.) This is what I remind myself of as I sift through the stuff and make "Keep" and "Get rid of" stacks. Old copies of The Epitaph...gone. Completed get-to-know-you questionnaires from a series of parties I held with friends in the mid 80s...gone. The button for a magazine that no longer exists...gone. The pages of the Sanrio notepad have gone into the scratch paper drawer (they don't make paper like they used to--for good reason). And my drawing of "Amy" from Warner Robins, Georgia--who apparently had long blonde hair, glasses, freckles, and wore blue that day...gone. Bye Amy; I hardly knew ye.

Several hours later
I've now gone through four tubs. One turned out to be missing toiletries, including lots of great shades of lipstick, which was an exciting if counter-productive find. (I did purge a bit upon inspection, throwing away old lotions, my beloved cookie-shaped Avon lip gloss from the late 70s, plus a makeup kit from the 80s--after I shadowed my eyelids turquoise, yellow, and magenta.) I filled one of the emptied tubs back up with garage saleable items, such as a beautiful ceramic mask, some cute gardening magnets, and a life-sized stuffed macaw on a wooden perch (I named him Herbert back around 1988). Now residing in the trash bag are my high school graduation cap, an old red wallet, and a stack of wall calendars from college, among many other items (yea me!). I kept the photos from inside the wallet, a bag of foreign coins, and a letter my brother sent me from basic training which I will transfer to my letters and notes box.

I don't know why I keep this stuff--the photos, the coins, the letters. I don't want to consciously give up on certain memories, certain attachments, even when I know I'd feel better once I did. I know that if it went missing, I wouldn't actually miss any of this (mostly because I've forgotten it exists). But worrying about any of this will not help. I've got the stuff, the baggage, and I will deal with it, a little at a time. In the face of such slow growth, I am soothed by the knowledge that I am at least growing, keeping less stuff than I did in the past, willingly throwing things away. I'm letting go (yea me!).

P.S. I hope Herbert likes his fellow garage sale buddies. They all came from a good home.

UPDATE
I've gone through three more tubs. Barbie and Ken have been found! Also found were their pals Darcy (blonde) and Darcy (brunette), Archie, Skipper, and Cher in all her sequined glory (yes, as in Sonny and Cher). I located more of my Girl Scout badges, a stack of junior high school friend photos, my (very cheesy and very homemade) fifth grade poetry book with sticker from the Young Author's Fair, and an articulated moving snake toy which is as amusing now as it was 30 years ago (in other words, it's a keeper). One more copy of our high school newspaper (The Epitaph) was found, this one from senior year; David was upset that I had tossed the others so he said I should keep this one. I'll remind him of that next time he complains about all the crap we've got stored away.

I feel good that I'm not contributing to landfill with my purgings. It's largely recyclable stuff, or kid stuff I can pass on (such as a set of mini colored pencils--Adam took a shine to them). An oversized Skipper doll went to the trash because she was oozing a sticky substance from her joints. Gone to recycling heaven are a big stack of high school play programs and posters, my customs declaration form and boarding pass from a trip to Mexico in 1984, as well as the name and address of Jose Francisco, who apparently wanted me to write to him in Cozumel. In the give-away box went one giant yellow comb from Great America (I'm guessing it was a statement against the comb-in-back-pocket style of the time).

Disposition still to be determined: dot matrix photo printouts of myself with various friends, certificates of participation in a national academic talent search (yea ME), and the log of my adventures on that Mexico trip (including the unsolicited attention of a 19-year old who told my mother he didn't care that I was "only 13"). I've now got a stack of sheet music, mostly marching band stuff, from my own flautist days as well as music I got from my grandparents' attic. Is there any reason to keep these things?

Put your breast foot forward

2011-03-26T13:45:00.000-05:00

I'm full of mammary puns at the moment, as I contemplate team names for my participation in the Susan G. Komen 3-day Walk for the Cure. A friend approached me with the idea of forming a team for the event in Seattle this September, and I signed up that night. That was the easy part. Now I have to train, raise funds, and learn not to hide from hordes of pink-wearing, boob-joking fellow participants.

But first things first. A bit of background as to why I'm participating...

One obvious reason is my grandma Alice. She had cancer when I was very young. I grew up knowing she'd had surgery and that she wore a funny pad in her bra. But it's only been since I was an adult and now a mother that the weight of all that she went through is appreciated. I loved my grandmother dearly, and grew up conscious of the risks of breast cancer because of her, but I will walk for many more reasons than the fact of grandmothers losing a breast to cancer.

Let's see, I like supporting a good cause, defined partially as one whose fundraising supports rigorous basic and applied research. Women's issues are near and dear to my heart, having grown up exposed to all sorts of feminist causes and in a female-heavy household. I have a strong interest in public health and health-promoting practices. I myself could stand to lose a couple (dozen) pounds. I like to walk. I like to travel. I have known various women who've had breast cancer, including a woman who died when her daughters were just 11 and 12 years old.

And so here I am, signed up to walk 60 miles over three days. I attended a 3-Day kick off meeting last weekend, which gave me some ideas for fundraising. The first official training walks are beginning soon, 24 weeks ahead of the start. I've got my fitted shoes, special socks to try out (with toes!), and a schedule for increasing walk distance each week. I hope to find a training group near my home. In the meantime, my husband and 2-year old son have been pressed into duty.

Tomorrow I'm taking my own personal training walk, a nearly 7-mile jaunt to lunch. I'll have to leave home at 9am in order to be sure I make it there in time to meet my family (aka my ride home). I look forward to seeing the neighborhoods from a walker's rather than driver's pace. I am hoping it doesn't rain on me, but by the end I might be wishing for a cool shower. And in the end, if I don't snooze in my burrito I might just smile from ear to ear at my great start.

Parent me

2011-03-08T19:22:00.000-06:00

Responsibility for our children’s education and future begins in our homes and communities. What are some of the most effective ways you're taking responsibility at a personal and local level for your child’s education?

I may have taken the assignment too literally, but when asked by the White House to respond to the above prompt, I couldn't help but emphasize that education really does begin at home. Here's what I submitted:

My son is two years old, but I am already planning for his future--as a good student and a happy, healthy man. From personal experience and research, I find all of the following to be effective towards these ends. Learning is the child's “job”, and parents and teachers provide management, leadership, and supervision. My husband and I will be involved with our son's school from day one as we monitor work, volunteer for activities, and communicate with and support his teachers. We're already involved in his schooling; we've enrolled him in a series of parent-child classes since he was six months old, exposing him to music, exercise, water safety, social skills, and developing neural connections all the while. We expect he will continue his education beyond high school, and at home we speak of "when" he goes to college, not "if." We began setting aside funds for our son's college education at birth. Friends worry that our local educational system is suffering under budget cuts, large classes, and test-related strictures in the curriculum. I share their concerns and vote with them in mind, but I also know that school is not the only place where learning occurs. Our home is a place of discovery and fun, and a place where self discipline is practiced and expected (lots of books and reading, limited television, age-appropriate materials in a space set aside for just being a kid, and conscious modeling by both parents). I would love for my son to do well in school, by every measure; but I am most concerned that he be engaged with his learning and encouraged to use what he learns for good. My husband and I work on being honest, attentive, and reflective on our role as parents. We provide unconditional love; we enforce limits but give lots of leeway within them; and we work at being healthy--physically, emotionally, financially--so that we can continue to provide a supportive environment for our child. Like my parents before me, I am involved in my community, and I look forward to involving my son in causes that support vibrant, healthy communities. We get to know our neighbors, and enjoy having friends over to our home. All of these spheres—home, school, community—contribute to a child's education and development as a person. As parents we have the power to influence and strengthen them all, and in so doing increase the chances that our child will be a happy, healthy, productive citizen of tomorrow. That's a great responsibility, and one I take willingly.

It's not that I think schools are so unimportant. I went into the field of education because I view schools as vital parts of society. But I get frustrated by the attention directed at teachers, administrators, and the public school system because it paints a woefully incomplete picture of the education of our children.

No one is going to appoint me Education Czar with unlimited powers over curriculum, staffing, and policies in public education; my powers to affect these things through available means--voting, attending local meetings, running for school board, working as a teacher, etc--provide incremental and indirect change (which is not to be discounted). Yet there is one area where I have rather direct and immediate influence: at home with my own child. And if you're a parent, so do you.

I really do believe that if we, each of us, worked on our own issues a bit more, all of our children would be a lot better off, and then by extension so would the schools. Start with adequate sleep, eat breakfast and get 20 minutes of exercise each day, practice patience and stress management techniques when dealing with family/coworkers/tailgaters, and spend less than earned (which includes knowing how much we spend and earn). If everyone did just those things, schools would already be better off, because it would mean better health and less stress in children's lives. Imagine the possibilities.

Now go work on your issues, and I'll go work on mine. Let's call it our contribution to 21st century education.

Recording history

2011-03-02T16:37:00.002-06:00

I'm clearing out some old posts, ones that never got published and have languished with the DRAFT label for no better reason than that I couldn't bring myself to complete the thought that spurred me to write. I edit to make the post at least intelligible (or so I hope), but otherwise leave the core thought as it was. Enjoy.

The following was written in August of 2009.

Ten days ago David's grandfather Verl, aged 96 and a half, passed away peacefully. He was the last of David's and my grandparents, and the only one to have known Adam. My grandma Ginny, the last surviving on my side, died weeks before Adam was born, just seven months ago. We miss them both, and all of our grandparents, each in their own way, dearly. For better or worse, they are our links to the past, part of the mystery of who we are and why.

While we have no regrets about waiting to have a child, we are sad that we did not have Adam sooner, in order to have shared his joy with more of our grandparents. Having a kid with a grandparent in residence was a true blessing. When the baby cried or projectile vomited, I worried that the disruption would bother Verl, but he was unfazed. He would calmly point out that the baby behaved as he did for a reason; it was nothing that getting upset about would help (how very logical). Naturally, as a father, I imagine he a) was not very helpful if even much present during his own child's rearing in the 1950s, and b) when he was aware of concerns involving the child, he wasn't near as patient as when he was 96 and tickled to finally be a great grandpa, ever present with no obligations attached. For this reason, I hope to live to be a grandmother, and I hope to be nearby when I am.

Thinking about life and death lately gets me thinking about my family history pursuits. Genealogy has been a hobby of mine for a long time, and I try to preserve just enough data to provide a rich record of history for my own ancestors. Years before they passed away, I did interviews with both Ginny and Verl. I asked them about their childhood, where they lived, early memories of home, school, and family traditions. These recordings don't bring loved ones back, but their voices and personal perspectives lend irreplaceable pieces of data. Plus it was just nice to sit down and have a conversation about personal history without any judgments or comments (along the lines of "Oh no, not that story again"). During the recorded interview it was for posterity, and I didn't mind repetition one bit.

The idea came to me after I heard a West Virginia woman interviewed on the radio, a woman whose voice sounded exactly like that of my great grandmother and her sisters. I felt a visceral longing for that unique voice. The twangy, distinctive dialect was a world away from the homogenized English I hear and use most days. It made me think about how those dialects are disappearing, and might be preserved as part of my own family history.

But I also happen to believe people's stories are interesting regardless of their utility, a point underscored by a website I've been monitoring recently. Interview Project is just a bunch of interviews. Random folks walking down the street or eating at a restaurant or wherever they were found, were asked to participate; they sat down and told their childhood dreams, how they met their spouses, and things they are most proud of, among various questions posed to them, while being filmed in black and white. Producer David Lynch describes it as a "a road trip where people have been found and interviewed". It's a profoundly simple way to highlight the commonalities we share, and I highly recommend a viewing (you watch each interview individually, which you can choose from a map of locations).

But first, go call a family member and schedule a sit down interview of your own. Make a list of questions (5-10 is sufficient for a 30-45 minute session, when you take into account follow up clarifying questions). Remember, they won't always be here (nor will you).

Cedar Rapids

2011-02-21T15:17:00.055-06:00

We left the kid with his grandparents and went out for a grown up dinner and a primetime movie. Impressive, right? More impressive still is that I spent 10 bucks on a movie that made me not care that I'd just spent 10 bucks on it. Okay, part of my joy was based on the fact that I was out on a Saturday night. But mostly it was because we saw a really nice movie.

Cedar Rapids stars Ed Helms as Tim Lippe, a naive insurance agent who, after the untimely demise of his company's star agent, is sent to represent the company at the regional conference, held every year in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Tim's never been to such a big city, and everything is a marvel to him. His boss tasks Tim with winning a coveted award, and orders him to steer clear of notorious client poacher, Dean Ziegler. Both of these things cause Tim a great deal of stress, as he discovers that the award is not as straight forward as he believed, and Dean is not the antichrist he was represented as either. Cedar Rapids becomes a place of transformation for Tim, as he explores his relationship with his new friends, a lover back home, a comely married colleague at the conference, a young hooker based at the hotel, and his entire future.

Ed Helms does a good job of making absurdly naive Tim sympathetic without seeming pathetic. The other supporting characters are all fitting to their roles, including Anne Heche (in one of her best parts--I kid not), Sigourney Weaver, Arrested Development's Alia Shawkat, and HBO The Wire's Isaiah Whitlock. but the real star of this movie is John C. Reilly as Dean Ziegler. He is as foul mouthed as anyone you'll see in the movies these days, as well as laugh out loud funny. What takes the occasional verbal raunchiness out of the realm of obnoxious is the genuine heart behind everything that occurs. The movie is absurd and funny and sweet and grown up and satisfying. Cedar Rapids is a movie I recommend without reservation (but note that it's not a film for children).

Dreaming

2011-01-13T12:55:00.008-06:00

Not that you asked, but...
I lost the Mega Millions lottery recently. The winners up in the Pacific Northwest are as deserving as anyone, I'm sure, and I wish them the best. But I would so very much have liked to have had my numbers called (not that my odds of winning could be considered by any rational person as good). My mother laughed at me ("You didn't seriously expect to win, did you?" she asked, ignoring the fact that she gave me 2 bucks to buy her entry as well), but I received consolation at home. David was similarly disappointed that our delusions of gambling-based grandeur had once more come to naught. I play very rarely (there are ground rules: winnings must be over $100 million, for example), and I gamble a pittance for the chance at the jackpot. Nonetheless, I am guaranteed never to win if I never play. (I am also guaranteed to lose money and contribute to a host of serious problems if I play regularly and/or large amounts, but that is the subject of another blog, which you can get a glimpse of from the Freakonomics guys, or in this guy's blog post.)

I have ideas for how I might spend a mad money portion of any lottery win (I picture a swim spa and built-in storage EVERYWHERE; David has fantasized about a share in a private jet and early retirement funds). But it's not all fun and games. I also have definite plans for using a sizable portion of any windfall for a dream project: starting a fabulous school.

All my life I have been fixated on teaching and education. I played teacher as a child, making up rosters, seating and lesson plans, picking up old textbooks at the flea market to play with, grading pretend homework (this sort of play may have reflected my social weaknesses and control issues, most of which I like to think I've overcome). As I prepared to become a "real" teacher, I started imagining an ideal school (the teacher equivalent of the English major's novel-writing dream). I drew layouts for buildings and grounds, explored subjects outside my field for "best of" ideas, and have accumulated a library of books for students of all ages. Everywhere I go, I am struck by lesson ideas, field trip possibilities, and those basic but all-important teachable moments. I regularly reference "My School" in conversations.

I can apply much of this inspiration on my child, though no doubt he will get sick of Ms. Teacher Mom and the fun will wear off in the adolescent years (for him, not me). It inspired me to go back to school once more for a doctorate in education. I can also go back to classroom teaching, which I love. But I feel like I have a bigger calling. Call it megalomania or egotism, if you will; however, I do think I could create and sustain a kick-ass educational environment.

Lots of educators feel this way. The system of education in the United States has issues, partly because it's a huge, complex universe reflecting the free will imperfections of human nature and society. Ideas for running and/or reforming education are as numerous as the global population. And there exist great schools, teachers, and lessons, already out there, making a difference every single day. I honor all of that. But I still want to start my own school.

There is nothing stopping me from going out and starting a school today, you might point out. Very true. It's my dream that is stopping me, because I want it all. I want hands-on academics. I want mixed ages. I want fresh air and sterile labs. I want heart-pumping activity and I want quiet contemplation. I want a student-run coffee shop. I want proximity to population centers and public transportation. And I want affordability. With that, I will show you interested and involved students and families. With all that, I will show you capable minds, generous hearts, and a skilled, committed citizenry, ready to face the challenges of life. With all that, I would be living a dream.

Many people dream of winning the big prize, and many people dream up big ideas. I wonder sometimes if I have held onto my dreams for too long. Although sleep is restorative, it is when we are awake that things get done. Is it time for me to wake up?

New You

2011-01-01T13:26:00.001-06:00

Have I been sucked in to the "new year's resolution" cult? Check back with me in a month.

Oh, and happy 2011!

Boys and their Toys

2010-07-04T12:26:00.000-05:00

We went to the drive in again last night. It's the last such theater in our area, one of the only ones in Northern California, and I'm glad we live close enough to it to make a last minute decision possible. So, off we went to see Toy Story 3 on a warm Saturday night in the middle of a three-day weekend. We found a cozy spot at the back, far enough behind the countless minivans to actually allow us in our average-height sedan to see all of the screen. We rolled down the windows and opened the sunroof, popped the top on a can of soda and settled in for the evening. Adam played in the backseat, watching some kids bounce a ball back and forth behind our car, until finally settling down on his blanket and sleeping, well, like a baby. Ahh, suburbia. Nice.

TOY STORY 3
I assume you know the fundamentals of Toy Story by now: Andy has a bunch of beloved toys, led by cowboy Woody and astronaut Buzz Lightyear, and these toys love Andy. Alas, the toys have had it rough these past few years, dwindling in numbers and cooped up in a toy chest as the boy grew to be a young man. Now Andy is headed off to college and the toys begin to look for new play outlets. They eventually end up at a daycare center, where the environment shifts from dreamy to worst nightmare real fast. And so they attempt a daring escape in order to return to Andy's, where they figure waiting in the attic is better than being destroyed.

I've glossed over a lot of details, but you get the idea. Like all other Pixar films, Toy Story 3 is charming, entertaining, has humor for kids and adults alike, and feels as nice as a warm fire on a cold day. The story is solid from beginning to end, and the ending is perfect. I've yet to meet anyone who has not gotten teary eyed (go ahead, try not to be moved). Heartily recommended to all ages.

THE A-TEAM
Whereas Toy Story 3 made me teary eyed over its sweetness and sensitivity and lovability, the second feature of our night made me want to cry for completely different reasons. I should begin by saying I was never a viewer of the tv show The A-Team. I knew its cast, I vaguely understood it was a bunch of renegade problem solvers, and I knew they rode around in a black van or a helicopter piloted by a crazy guy. But I never had a desire to watch the show when it aired in the 80s or ever since. This should have been enough to convince me to choose something else as the follow up to our drive in experience. But no, I was swayed by reviews and comments that the movie was "a lot of fun," a summer/buddy/action movie. I don't often object to such a combo, and "fun" sounded, well, fun to me. After the fact, David said he didn't know why I had chosen it. Oh well. I'm not sure I should review this movie (can you tell I'm not a fan?), but I'll try to be fair.

A foursome of Army Rangers realize their combined talent for fixing sticky situations, and become a strategically used military team. They get drawn into a search for missing money-printing plates in Iraq, which they end up losing in a mission that goes out of control. They are court martialed, dishonorably discharged, and imprisoned. In order to clear their names, they decide to find these plates. But first, they have to break out of prison, locate the person suspected of having taken the plates, and then get them to someone who has enough clout to remove the charges against them.

This sounds like a much better movie than the one I saw. In reality, the film moved jerkily from one wacky situation to the next, with actors pantomiming original characters (especially Liam Neeson as the leader) and spouting ridiculous snippets of dialogue. The cast has potential (though Quinton Jackson as Baracus can't hold a candle to Mr T in that role), the basic plot is more complex than it needed to be (an entire, very fun, movie could have been spent on bringing the team together, and there are some cute/funny moments (Sharlto Copley as Murdock is by far the most entertaining of the bunch, no the only entertaining character, but still very good). Alas, much of this movie felt like a wasted opportunity.

My final analysis: the script is atrocious, the shifts from one scene to the next are inexcusably poor, much of the plot and related dialogue is offensively dumb, and the pacing makes me think a 10-year old boy was in charge. Which is precisely who I think this movie is targeted at, so maybe the film-makers achieved their goal. I was disappointed and disgruntled halfway through the movie, and couldn't turn the car on fast enough when it ended. Need I say...I do not recommend this movie, unless, of course, you are an anti-communicative, girls-are-yucky, explosions-are-cool, 10-year old boy (at heart).

Home is where the heart is

2010-07-02T14:08:00.001-05:00

Maybe you've lost track of how many times we move or put offers on houses and whatnot (for the record, we have shared 8 residences, and had more than twice that many in our lifetimes otherwise). Maybe you heard we were in negotiations for a house up in Belmont this past March, then last month we put an offer on a house going through a probate sale. We like where we live at present, but it has always been seen as a California-starter home for us, one we were so pleased to share with Verl, but which we're now ready to move on from. Over the years of pseudo-househunting, we've harborbed no illusions about finding our "dream house", but we do hold out hopes of at least finding something we would be happy to settle down in (buying an adorable house in Southeast Texas didn't count as settling down, since we knew it was short term).

So maybe you'll be interested to read that we seem to have finally been successful in buying a house we could live in for a long while. This morning we heard that our bid--on a 3 bedroom, 2 bath, 1840 square foot, turnkey house in Sunnyvale--was the winning and final one. Now we just need to go through the escrow period, finalize some fixes, and move in. Voila! Twenty years of being together and it looks like we're finally going to settle down.

David looks forward to being moved in, not moving again for a long time, and getting rid of a lot of our "crap". Those all sound good to me, but I also look forward to having a dedicated space for Adam to play in, a kitchen we can unpack all of our dishes and appliances into, and a space in which to once more allow easy access to our (greatly reduced) personal library. We'll live with the downsides--the freeway is on the other side of a creek behind the property, the laundry is in the garage, and the kitchen is fairly small and closed in). On the plus side, the family room and living room are large, rooms are well laid out, there is a 20'x20' enclosed patio room, baths and kitchen are all updated, and there's ample parking (parties are definitely in our future).

I will miss the swimming pool and vast lawns at our Los Gatos Village complex, and the assorted places we've grown to enjoy in this area (although being 11 miles north on highway 85, it's not like we're moving to another planet, and it's not as if we've not spent lots of time in and around Sunnyvale these past 20 years). I do feel a wee bit odd about moving back to Sunnyvale, after now spending more than half my life out of it; there is a part of me that feels I ought to have grown out of my hometown. But there's a bigger part of me that is deeply content with the idea of reconnecting with all that the place I grew up in has to offer and having Adam grow up in it too, albeit in his own way.

Cross your fingers that all goes well between now and the end of escrow (we don't foresee any problems, but of course your good thoughts are welcome). We hope you will come visit us when you're in the area. And if you are willing to help, such as with a bit of painting (Adam's room needs to be personalized, don't you agree?) or packing/unpacking, we would love your assistance. We hope to begin the moving process as soon as July 17. I'll send a more formal change of address and all that after the whole thing is final.

PS One lesson I learned from our dealings with a probate sale: If you haven't done so yet/recently, go right now and write/update your will. Seriously.

It's a mystery

2010-05-20T13:21:00.003-05:00

Each night before sleep I read a bit to clear my head. Most of my reading comes from a local library, one of my favorite places on earth. The world and everything in it seems accessible and interesting at a good library. The trouble with libraries, however, is that it's a tough place to find something you'll enjoy at random. So in my dedicated library bag I keep a running list of books I've heard about elsewhere, authors I've liked in the past, and topics I want to explore further. Then I hit the stacks. How much better can an hour be spent than perusing books, I ask you. Okay, don't answer that.

My point is, I make my way through one novel at a time, one chapter (or two) a day, and it adds up. When asked recently if I'd read anything good lately, I had a bevy of replies. A few I've mentioned here previously (my reading posts), but not enough. I'm here today partly to remind myself years later of books I already read before I check them out again (I'm talking to you, Girl's Guide), and partly to share my recommendations in hopes of spreading some reading joy.

I recommend (and loan out) Kathryn Stockett's Jim Crow-South novel The Help to everyone, though I've discovered it's too intense a subject for a few people. The three narrators (two black maids and a younger white woman who delves into her hometown's segregationist practices) take a bit of getting used to, but stick with it and you'll be rewarded with wonderfully authentic voices, moving stories, and a vivid history lesson no American should forget. I especially loved the Afterword by the author, in which she describes her own relationship history with her family's black maid. Touching, sad, important, personal.

It seems like I've always got one or two "serious" books on my bedside table, waiting for me to be in a contemplative mood. Don't worry, I won't dig out the titles at the moment, if for no other reason than that I don't have a good track record of recommending such books to others. (Avoid religion and politics, isn't that rule one of chitchat?)

Switching to the frivolous side of reading, I do enjoy a bit of good chick lit from time to time, but recognize that chick lit is not to everyone's tastes. Sophie Kinsella's Twenties Girl is cute, but not very memorable. I've not even requested Emily Giffin's latest, Heart of the Matter, from the library, because it looks to confirm my apathetic feelings towards her books since reading her stellar debut novel, Something Borrowed.

By far the bulk of my casual reading this past year has been mysteries. I wrote previously about the international phenomenon, the Millenium trilogy, which isn't so much a mystery series as one very long novel of intrigue and character studies. Replete with violence and minutiae, that is not for everyone. But I've got a few other more classic mysteries that I can recommend to any reader.

Mistress of the Art of Death is the first in a series of medieval forensics novels by Ariana Franklin. Adelia, the central character, is the modern day equivalent of a medical examiner, brought to England to help King Henry II solve a sensitive crime and thereby calm the local populace. The mystery aspect of the story is well done, with a wide cast of suspicious characters. The crimes are a bit gruesome, but I skim those descriptions and feel I miss nothing of the story development. There's something of a love interest for Adelia, though this enters the plot late and is not dwelled upon. What's most interesting about this story, I thought, is the incorporation of what seems to be well researched historical detail. All aspects of everyday life are touched upon, as are customs and language. I love that kind of thing. Right now I'm reading the second book, The Serpent's Tale, which is keeping my attention. After that, there are three more books featuring Adelia. Hopefully the plots remain appealing and the mysteries intriguing. I'll let you know.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie is the first of a very promising new series of mystery novels by Alan Bradley. It centers on an adolescent girl in post-War England who is obsessed with poisons and extremely well versed in chemistry. Alas Flavia de Luce has no one to temper her eccentricities. Her father is a stoic widower, and her two older sisters focus on relationships and music, far outside Flavia's realm. When Flavia becomes involved in a murder investigation, she gets in over her head, but of course ends up solving the crime before the police do. The story is told from Flavia's perspective, demonstrating her blend of sophisticated insight and childish views. It's a charming book, and one I recommend to mystery fans and historical fiction fans alike. The next book, The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag, came out recently and I've not read it, but again, I am hopeful that the quality is maintained.

A cute book I'd recommend to any reader is another unusual-perspective mystery novel, Dog On It. This is the first in yet another new series, the Chet and Bernie mysteries. In this case, the narrator is...wait for it...a dog. I can't tell you exactly why it works so well, but I can simply tell you it does. The author has done a great job of viewing a private detective's work through a dog's eyes. A rather insightful and well behaved dog, but a dog nonetheless. The mystery part of the story is secondary to the interactions of dog and human.

Speaking of mystery series, and the potential for storylines to get iffy after a while, I will recommend--with qualifications--the Stephanie Plum books by Janet Evanovich. I read the first one years ago, but I think I'd still recommend it to vacation readers. Stephanie is a bounty hunter, a profession she took on as last resort when she lost her job. She's also an accident-prone Jersey girl involved with two different guys, cop Joe Morelli, and mysterious fellow bounty hunter, Ranger. The first book, One for the Money, shows Stephanie as she learns her job and becomes reaquainted with Joe; it's fast paced, filled with oddball characters, and plain old lighthearted (adult) fun. A few of the other books, especially early on, are similarly amusing. But lately the stretching out of Stephanie's perpetual dilemma choosing between Joe and Ranger, and the repetitiveness of cases and improbable problems she encounters have grown tiresome. Still, I do hold out hope, like so many other readers who've been sucked into this series, that Stephanie will one day move on. At last count there were 15 published novels in the regular series, plus three supplementary stories, and the 16th book comes out next month. There's also reportedly a movie in the works. I'm sure I'll have an opinion when that arrives. Til then, happy reading.

Selfishness

2010-05-20T01:24:00.005-05:00

Ever have one of those days where things just irk you? That's today for me. And in an effort to rid my brain of some of the more vexing thoughts occupying it before I head off for my night's rest, I thought I'd vent a little. Hmm, where to begin...

Okay, this is not a new one, and I'm not sure why it's bugging me so right now, except that I continue to hear and see evidence that there are a lot of people who watch or at least lend credence to the need for and value of of 24-hour news. In fact, I think nothing could be further from the truth. I'm sick of the news networks'--especially Fox News channel's--irresponsible fear mongering and non-existent fact checking. I hate the stupid teasers that local, national and 24-hour news programs use to activate viewers' imaginations in negative ways, especially when the actual story is more often than not completely harmless or relevant for such a small portion of the population as to be irrelevant as a mass communication. Why?! What earthly purpose could be served by luring viewers into false impressions, scaring them, or decontextualizing and oversimplifying things to the point of making the information valueless?
I think the greediness of media executives has completely blinded them to the value of using communications and entertainment power for good not evil, and thus they act in ways that make themselves wealthier in dollars, and poorer in spirit. how's the saying go, money is the root of all evil? There's much truth in that.
I'm also a bit peeved about rampant short-term thinking, mindless consumerism, ignorance, and gullibility (and the systems that essentially maintain these aspects of society). These are ongoing frustrations, probably hard wired in me by this point, and only on occasion do they make me want to give all my belongings away and remove myself and family from society.
I know this may seem ironic coming from a blog entitled "It's all about ME", but I am so *%&#ing sick of rampant self-centeredness. Every day I observe people thinking they are the exception to the rule. It's a normal facet of human behavior that has become a dominant and increasingly acceptable way of life. I don't like it.
I don't like hatred, excess, abuse, or any so-called "necessary evil." Alas, I did not say I never engage in any of these. ;)
It's hard to look out for my neighbor as myself when I spend most of my time looking out for myself. How often do I tell myself it's okay to take the shortcut, or break the rule, simply because it's the easy way out, and if I play the game right no one else will ever know or be harmed by it. But this is just playing the odds, and in the game of life I will on occasion lose. Add up all the "me"s in the world, and you've got a whole lot of gambling going on each day.
As I maintain faith that there's always tomorrow, my todays--or those of my neighbors--may be getting suckier and suckier. And on a grand scale, lots of us putting off until tomorrow what we don't want to do today undoubtedly creates a to-do list that is unfinishable by mortal man. So I tell myself, "It's okay, someone else will take care of it," just so I can sleep at night.
I am an unapologetically practical optimist.
I wonder at what point the hope I hold out for tomorrow is just propping up my complacency today and contributing in a roundabout way to the suckiness I feel right now. Fear, isolation, anger. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Sometimes I act selfishly because I believe it's for the best, but upon further reflection I realize it was just laziness. Like every other person on the planet, I struggle with gaps between intention and action, beliefs and practices.
I adore and am uplifted by the teachings of Martin Luther King Jr. I fantasize about incorporating his writings in a national curriculum for K-12 education. First, we need a national curriculum (and not just so-called standards).
Have I mentioned that I believe the teaching of anger management principles to the population at large ought to be a major public health initiative? I think anger is a vastly under-discussed problem, and one whose negative consequences are far reaching. (It's a long read, but this is a great overview of the subject.)
The average adult apparently does not get enough sleep to perform their best during the day. I know how cranky I am when I'm tired, and I know how my interactions with another sleep-deprived person go (aka not very well). And I know how much more manageable my day's chores seem after a good night's rest (if not enthusiastic, I am at least free of one excuse to avoid doing what I know I must). Hmm, is it possible that the treatment for many of society's ills is as simple as an enforced bedtime?

Which reminds me, it's quite a ways past mine (so much for taking my own advice, eh?). Tootle loo and good night, friends. Be good, sleep well. See you soon....

PS I'm feeling very Notes to Myself right now. It's a beautiful book about self reflection, relationships, acceptance, and forgiveness. I recommend it to everyone.

The Girl...

2010-05-08T13:43:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I stumble upon popular phenomena. This happened to me when I caught the series premieres of shows like Survivor, Lost, and Mad Men, only to become an evangelist for each on its own merits. It happened when I picked up Outlander by Diana Gabaldon and got sucked into this fabulous romantic saga of time travel and Scottish history (though I'm not a fan of most of its sequels). And it's happening in real estate lately. A few weeks ago we went to an open house for a nice but un-updated place in Redwood City; I was thinking seriously about it the next day, when David called to report that someone had that morning put in an offer and been accepted.

These are not random coincidences, I realize. Great minds think alike, good products gain attention, and my tastes are not so unique as to be without peers. Still I am always pleased to learn I've become interested in something that a lot of other people are also interested in. It's nice to know I'm not alone in the world. :)

The latest example is my fascination with the Swedish crime fiction trilogy Millenium. Each title (in English) begins The Girl... (the first is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo). The two main characters--a middle aged male investigative reporter and a diminutive young female computer hacker with a lot of issues--cross paths and end up working together to solve a decades old crime, but they are not a couple. It's a pretty cynical tale, the author does not shy from incorporating sex, and the beginning is a confusing mix of unfamiliar Swedish names, places and events. But all that aside, for some of us readers it also happens to be a wildly compelling read.

These books are not unknown (on my recent vacation, four of us were reading the second book). They are bestsellers around the world, and have already been turned into a trio of films in Sweden (an indication of the popularity there that this happened so soon, considering the last of the books hasn't even been released in the US yet). Here in the US, the first book has been on the New York Times bestseller list for a year, in spite of mixed reviews. People complain that the author included an inordinate amount of extraneous detail. There are few if any committed healthy relationships to savor within the cast. And there's violence, much of it sexual in nature, which understandably turns many readers off.

Even with all these detractors, I've gotten really involved in the series, and sought out the movie. I wanted visuals and was curious how the book would translate to film. What I found was that the filmmakers did an excellent job of distilling the essence of the plot, maintaining background detail but zeroing in on the action-packed storyline. What I had not been prepared for, in my detail-oriented reading haze, was that that essence was so very, very dark. All that being said, here's my review of the film.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
This briskly paced, 2-and-a-half hour thriller tells the story of Mikael Blomquist, an investigative journalist hired, after losing a well publicized libel case, to look into the disappearance of a young woman 40 years earlier. Mikael is cyber-tracked along the way by a young female hacker, Lisbeth Salander, who was employed initially by a security firm to gather background on him. She is a top-notch researcher, but utterly lacking in social skills and niceties. As a result of childhood trauma, Lisbeth is a ward of the state, even at age 24, and under the nominal control of an unscrupulous guardian. While Lisbeth deals with her guardian, she monitors with curiosity what Mikael is working on and ends up decoding a key part of the evidence. After she shares what she found, Mikael enlists her help, and the two work together to unravel an increasingly bizarre mystery.

At first the rhythm of the Swedish dialogue (and occasionally hard to read white subtitles) were distracting. And the movie does not shy from disturbing scenes of sexual violence that provide a basis for key parts of the plot (the Swedish title translates as "Men Who Hate Women"). But it's a well done thriller, with good bursts of action and tension, a few twists, and a good cast. Other readers will similarly appreciate the film. The movie is a faithful adaptation of the book, and the changes make sense. The movie also stands alone quite well, though I think it would appeal only to those with an appetite for a dark thriller.

Drive In

2010-03-27T12:26:00.005-05:00

Yikes, I've been neglecting my poor blog. I'd like to think it's because I've been doing so much interesting stuff that I have no time to sit and record my thoughts, but one glance at my facebook page or twitter feed will show you this ain't true. Of course a closer look at the piecemeal comments and activities there will show why I might not be blogging as much. Just as I feel I am growing more light-hearted with age, I am also growing more light-brained. I prefer not to think about it, and thus my blog suffers. Sorry, little bloggy. But the event that will always trigger a return to my blog has occurred, and this brings me to why I am here today. That's right, I went to see a movie. (Cue dramatic swell of music.)

HOT TUB TIME MACHINE
The ads for this movie tantalized me back during the Olympics. I'm a sucker for fun John Cusack movies, and throwbacks to the 80s only entice me further. David did not understand my fascination with such a raunchy mindless movie (he was concerned for my pleasure, not his--isn't that sweet?), but still he agreed to accompany me to the drive-in on the film's opening night. With such lofty expectations (maybe lofty isn't the right word) the movie could hardly excel in my final estimation, and indeed it did not. However, it wasn't a waste of time.

Hot Tub Time Machine centers on a trio of middle aged men who have grown apart since their glory days as debaucherous youths. Now facing the sad realities of adult life (lost dreams, shattered marriages, etc) they are thrown together for a weekend and decide to make the most of it at a ski resort they used to frequent. (Inexplicably) joining them is one of their nephews.

Cusack is the nominal star, but his character Adam is fairly flat, and he virtually phones in the performance (I'm excited to finally use that phrase). Clark Duke is amusing as Adam's nephew Jacob, played as the modest-quippy-geek type Duke is building a career of (check him out on ABC Family's Greek or the deadpan online show Clark and Michael). Craig Robinson plays Nick, a former singer now married and working for a dog care business. And the most outrageous--and in this case funniest--of the characters is Lou, played by The Daily Show's hilarious Rob Corddry. Lou is a foul mouthed, hard drinking, insecure man-child whose antics are at the center of the laugh-out-loud moments of the movie.

The plot barely holds together and centers on a hot tub that takes the guys back to the mid 1980s, where they must recreate what turned out for some to be a pivotal night of relationship letdowns and inappropriate sex. As that combo implies, the movie never quite figures out whether it's trying for heart or pure outrageousness. Like the 80s teen sex movies it attempts to harken back to, HTTM at its best succeeds only on a sophomoric level, though it's sometimes a very funny level. So the movie didn't live up to my hype. But it delivered laughs, had a good soundtrack, and kept me awake on a Friday night. No need to relive the night, but I certainly won't regret it either.

REMEMBER ME
First a bit of explanation...
My intention had been to switch venues in order to watch When In Rome instead of She's Out of My League, which was what was paired with Hot Tub Time Machine as a second feature. Thus we had to relocate within the drive-in during intermission. I had scoped out the other screens to see where The Bounty Hunter was playing, which I thought was paired with When In Rome. Logical, right? So we maneuver, find a space, and await a Kristen Bell-Josh Duhamel fluff movie. This would all be a lot easier to do if, a) I could recall from one visit to the next how best to determine what is playing with what at the local drive-in, or b) the 6-screen outdoor theater were not so elaborately walled off and riddled with oddly parked cars and bits of tire-threatening flea market detritus. Five minutes into the movie we "chose"--after a dark slow moving murder scene unfolded without titles (maybe I missed them?)--I turned to David and said, "This doesn't seem like the start of a romantic comedy." Boy was I right.

So I didn't intend to see what I ended up watching, and--once I'd figured out what it was--knew nothing about the film other than the names of its stars (Robert Pattinson, the British actor who is so pretty and square jawed as to be occasionally distracting, and Emilie de Ravin, the Australian actress who plays Claire on the tv show Lost). Indeed, I spent a full quarter of an hour contemplating how we could politely move our car to the opposite end of the complex, where I now saw brightly colored scenery at the start of the lighthearted rom-com I'd expected to settle into. This was not helped by the quiet, deliberate pace of Remember Me (a title I had to look up after we got home). But I gotta say, in the end I actually liked this movie.

Remember Me is about two damaged young people who get together under somewhat false pretenses and then have to deal with their family traumas (past and present). There's basically no soundtrack, the scenery is nothing special, and the various foreign actors playing New Yorkers with accents can be irritatingly distracting (to me, although maybe you don't care). But just let yourself sit and watch and wait, and the movie delivers. I think anyone who knows too many details of the story would be very disappointed, but with an open mind and a patient mood you might find you like this movie too. Read nothing more about it, just check it out. How's that for a rousing endorsement?

Close calls

2010-01-11T11:58:00.015-06:00

Not that you asked, but...
1. I possess the power to deactivate automatic toilet flushers, albeit temporarily. At least three-quarters of the time when using a public restroom where those hands-free flushers are installed, it will not work automatically for me. I am this<---->close to taking it personally.

2. I am this<----->close to being a certifiable music hoarder. I collect any tangentially interesting digital music legally available to me, duly rate it in my iTunes, then forget it exists as I merrily collect other music. I don't believe I will ever set aside the time necessary to listen to all of this music through. And collecting more just muddles my automatic playlists and makes it harder to find that one song I really want to hear. And now that I'm thinking about it, why do I keep around songs I rate 1 or 2 stars out of 5?

For that matter why am I keeping my decades-old and rarely played lps and cassette tapes? Apart from the warmth-spreading nostalgia I feel when listening to crackles and pops on my now vintage vinyl, I'm not sure these albums hold any real value for me anymore. A sad realization that maybe I should have come to several cross country moves ago.

3. And since I brought up public bathrooms (sorry, squeamish readers)...I am this<-->close to asking perfect strangers why they flush the toilet before sitting on it. I'm not sure women do this at home, but out in public they do it a lot.

I'm not in there with them, but it's obvious they enter the stall, immediately flush it, then continue with their business. While I can come up with plausible explanations for this sort of behavior, I still think it is completely irrational. (And I'm not talking about flushing the left behind contents of a previous user; I'm talking about flushing an empty toilet in a suburban public restroom.)

WHAT exactly does flushing the toilet beforehand do for your health and hygiene? For that matter, what exactly do you think you're going to get by sitting on the average public toilet? My answer: Nothing. Others agree there's nothing, nothing, nothing to fear. Just wash your *&^%ing hands afterward, nothing fancy or obsessive required. Oh, and don't put things down on the floor of a public bathroom. I will spare you, faithful readers, the rest of my thoughts on this subject.

4. I might someday be this<--->close to being the victim of road rage at the hands of a cell phone driver whom I have gestured at repeatedly in an attempt to get them to hang up. David has forbidden me from even staring at these people while he's driving, probably an indication of the intensity of my feelings on this matter. It bugs me how many people believe they are immune to the potential power of distractability while driving. Just one of many things people think they are the exception to. Which reminds me of my 1% rule in perceptions of behavior, but that's a subject for another post.

5. I am this<------------------>close to joining a mommy group. While I think Adam would benefit from socializing with other babies, I'm not sure I'd enjoy socializing (or, to be more accurate, hanging out on the fringes) with other baby mommies/nannies. I'd enjoy the access to new acquaintances, but from what I've seen thus far this venue is going to pan out for me. Inevitably it turns to talk of the kid, and listening to conversations about kids' behavior as if it's a competition (fueled by lots of ignorance and fear) gives me ticks. Plus, and I will admit it here but nowhere else: the parents in mommy groups scare me a little.

Okay, enough sharing for one day. It's time for baby gym (I wish I was kidding, but it's really quite fun). Ta ta for now.

Entertain me

2010-01-11T11:35:00.005-06:00

I failed to report on our third, fourth, etc monitor-free Monday evening activities because, well, we cheated one week (I felt naughty, but I think David felt nary a twinge of regret) and have done nothing worth reporting otherwise (read, clean up, read some more--this new policy is doing wonders for our periodical consumption). As you have no doubt deduced, monitor-free Mondays are quiet and dull. Still, this is no excuse for not following up on my pledge to report weekly on this personal experiment. As the year waxes and wanes I hope to remain faithful, no matter how mundane those few hours or subsequent reports are.

Monitor me 2

2009-12-01T10:26:00.001-06:00

Last week we started monitor-free Mondays, wherein we go without television, computers, and other sit-and-watch type electronic pastimes, one night a week. Here is a report on our second monitor-free evening.

Week 2
We avoided the mutinous stare of our big screen tv by going out to dinner (mmm, cheesy biscuits and blackened fish at Red Lobster). It was nice to eat something other than leftovers. Back home we played with Adam before whisking him off to bath and bed. Then, fearless of Adam's proto-slumbering proximity, David managed to pull out all of the Christmas decoration boxes from our attic in search of his pyramids. Three pyramids, a tablecloth, and a few candle holders made it downstairs, while the haphazard boxes stayed behind, a mess to clean up another day. We rounded out the evening reading; David had his year-end Economist, and I had an interesting article on South African runner (and intersex female) Caster Semenya.

Blackened

2009-11-28T08:30:00.000-06:00

I've never been much of a shopper, and the idea of heading out on Black Friday has never appealed to me. I can't think of anything I want or want to give badly enough to get up before dawn and compete with others just to stand in a long line to buy it. But this year I was asked by a friend to accompany him as he bought gifts for a children's shelter, and I figured, what the heck, you only live once. Adam woke me up before dawn, I dressed, gathered some sustenance (sesame crackers, cheddar cheese, and dark chocolate M&Ms), and hit the road.

We made it to the big box store (which will go unnamed, lest I be forced to go into why I generally refuse to shop there) around 7:15am. The barricades were still up and I had to walk all the way around the building to make it back to the front entrance in time to be told entry was no longer being controlled. Good timing, eh? We enter chaos. There are plenty of shopping carts, but virtually no space within which to maneuver them. The checkout lines literally meander all the way to the back of the store. Staff stand at the end of many aisles and next to any display with easily pocketed merchandise. If anyone has only one item in their cart, it's a big screen tv; otherwise carts are piled high with mostly toys, games, dolls, and electronics. We make a circuit along the outermost aisles, picking up any toy that looks good, and I add one thing for Adam. Together we politely push past confused shoppers, listless children, and more than a few overburdened shopping carts.

At the other side, my friend has the bright idea of asking whether there's a checkout off in the garden section, and sure enough there is. Eureka! The lines are still long there, but the quiet of the space makes it all bearable. No one pushes through us while we wait in line, no tinny music assails our ears, and all we gaze upon are stacks of tastefully boxed holiday decorations. We befriend the two women in front of us, take turns wandering around the madhouse of the main store, and make it through the line in about 35 minutes. Start to finish our early morning shopping venture lasted an hour.

I was so energized I agreed to go for a bit more shopping elsewhere (where crowds were relatively sparse) and then Costco afterward. I know, wow. And Costco was the emptiest I've ever seen it. All in all, an enjoyable morning, and something I never would have predicted.