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Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
prototypical phone call turns serious
This phone conversation started out with lots of the typical stuff (no lakes in DC, huh?) and quickly evolved into mom's saying that we're drifting apart because I don't call enough.
It's Tuesday night; we talked Sunday night, as you may recall.
A.: Hi.
Mom: V.!!!! V.!!!!
A.: Could you not scream into the phone, please?
Mom: Well, then I would have to get up to call your father. Fine.
[Slightly less thunderously] V.! V.!
Dad: Hi.
A.: Hi.
A.: Did the photos arrive?
Mom: What photos? The pictures of the cat? What's her name again? I haven't had time to look at those. Is this why you've finally called, after all this time?
A.: The print photos?
Mom: What print photos?
A.: Photos from China.
Mom: You sent photos?
Dad: Who will they be coming from?
A.: Shutterfly.
Mom: What?
A.: Shutterly
Mom: What company?
A.: Shutter. Fly.
Mom: What does this company do?
A.: It develops photos.
Mom: You actually had photos developed?
A.: Yes. Well, technically, I had some printed.
Mom: Why?
A.: Sigh.
Mom: Have you gone swimming?
A.: Do we need to go over this every time?
Mom: Yes. I'm reminding you.
A.: Thank you.
Dad: What are you reading?
A.: A book called "Nudge." It's about the psychology of choice architecture and decision making-- for example, the way people are much less likely to opt out of something, like a 401k plan, than opt into it, holding the substance of the choice constant. Wendy gave it to me.
Mom: I've read some of that stuff, it's pretty shallow.
A.: It's based on solid research, I assure you. Especially that example.
Mom: I don't know about that.
Dad: What's Wendy up to these days?
A.: Right now she's driving across the country. She and her husband are moving to Pennsylvania.
Mom: Where?
A.: Central Pennsylvania.
Mom talks about the Poconos; dad points out to her that the Poconos are nowhere near central Pennsylvania. They somehow get into a "so what?"/"I'm just saying" argument.
Mom: So, you're not going anywhere for work?
A.: I will tell you when I know where I'm going for work.
Mom: Who are you friends with these days? Have you forged close, deep friendships at work?
A.: I don't know about 'deep'. I mean, I've been there not quite six months and I spend the vast majority of my time there working. I do have friends at work... I'm also friends with the same people I've been friends with for years.
This is not the first time that my mother has auditioned the concern that I don't have any friends. I think she is genuinely convinced that I don't have friends (after all, I have that overbearing personality) and that I ran away from my former job because I didn't get along with people there, because of my abrasive personality. I'm not sure how to best reassure her that I do, indeed, have friends.
I do feel increasingly good about work. I feel like I'm settling in and finding my way around. I think I've said as much in past conversations but she's not terribly interested.
Anyway, then things got weird.
Mom: I feel that our conversations have gotten formal. It's because we don't talk often enough. I think you should call more.
A.: Or, you could call me when you want to talk. Really, most of the time during the week, making a phone call is the last thing on my mind. I'm mostly focused on getting ready for the next day.
Mom: Me, too.
Yes, I suppose I could sacrifice the forty minutes I spend watching the Daily Show and Colbert Report, but then I would go crazy.
Mom: If you don't have time, what difference does it make who calls?
A.: What difference does it make who calls, anyway? If you want to talk, call me. I don't call, because I usually don't have much to say.
Mom: Even if you just share the little stuff, the mundane stuff. Like, when you see a bunny in the yard.
A.: I told you the other day that I saw a bunny in the yard. Honestly, mom, I'm just in my own world on weeknights. Cycling takes more time. I'm exhausted and famished. I clean up, eat, get my stuff together for the next day, watch some tv, read a bit if I have any brainpower left-- which I usually do not-- and go to bed, later than I should given what time I get up.
All that is true. One or two nights I week, I do go out and spend time with friends, but this is about as much as I can take, and it's worth it but it wears me out. Am I allowed to spend time with the friends my mother doesn't think I have?
There is also what is true but is not said, like I don't want to share the mundane stuff because who the f* cares. It's one thing to say "there's a bunny in the yard" when we're already on the phone; it's another to call to report a bunny sighting, when the bunny is there every day.
I didn't say, 'Why do you find our conversations "formal"? Maybe because you don't listen so you can ask me the same questions on every phone call-- have I been swimming? Am I traveling for work? Do I have AC or ceiling fans? Because you cut off any chance of a substantive conversation? When we were talking about "Nudge," could you have maybe said anything other than, "nope, that's all BS"? Or even supported "that's all BS" with some interesting data?'
I really, really care about my parents and enjoy talking to them, but I don't have enough to say for daily conversation; I couldn't HANDLE daily conversation with mom; and I really am busy and tired. Yes, I blog, and yes I read a lot of news--staying informed to me is as important as exercise. I can't just make stuff up.
I know that the demands on me are different than those of, say, a single mother, or most mothers, or people working multiple jobs (and perhaps also parenting at the same time). There are many people in this world busier and more tired than I am. Nonetheless, I am busy, and usually exhausted. Mom just doesn't appreciate that. She won't admit to herself or anyone else that, being retired, she has free time and a bit more leeway in terms of how she spends her weeknights.
But I didn't say any of this.
Mom: So, do you still go to the gym?
A.: Less so. I go to the one at work now, but usually not on days that I bike.
Mom: Why the one at work?
A.: Because it's there...
Mom: What does biking have to do with not going to the gym?
A.: I don't usually feel the need to go to the gym on days that I cycle twenty miles.
Mom: I just feel that our conversations are increasingly formal.
A.: I don't know what to tell you. I don't feel that are conversations are formal. We can work on that. But I'm not going to call you every day.
We sort of left it there. I also realized later that, naturally, once a weeknight conversation is approaching or has gone past the time I should start getting ready for bed, I'm not exactly going into great detail about my activities or asking my parents about theirs. I can see how at that point the conversation would get "formal."
I'm wondering whether to point out to mom that it's a power thing. Why else would she need me to call her every day, rather than, say, calling me if she wants to talk? There are other things I can point out to my mother, in the vein of 'what's the point of telling you things when you don't listen' and 'I don't go out of my way to tell you about how work is going because you're just going to disparage it.' Maybe it's time to have those conversations.
It's Tuesday night; we talked Sunday night, as you may recall.
A.: Hi.
Mom: V.!!!! V.!!!!
A.: Could you not scream into the phone, please?
Mom: Well, then I would have to get up to call your father. Fine.
[Slightly less thunderously] V.! V.!
Dad: Hi.
A.: Hi.
A.: Did the photos arrive?
Mom: What photos? The pictures of the cat? What's her name again? I haven't had time to look at those. Is this why you've finally called, after all this time?
A.: The print photos?
Mom: What print photos?
A.: Photos from China.
Mom: You sent photos?
Dad: Who will they be coming from?
A.: Shutterfly.
Mom: What?
A.: Shutterly
Mom: What company?
A.: Shutter. Fly.
Mom: What does this company do?
A.: It develops photos.
Mom: You actually had photos developed?
A.: Yes. Well, technically, I had some printed.
Mom: Why?
A.: Sigh.
Mom: Have you gone swimming?
A.: Do we need to go over this every time?
Mom: Yes. I'm reminding you.
A.: Thank you.
Dad: What are you reading?
A.: A book called "Nudge." It's about the psychology of choice architecture and decision making-- for example, the way people are much less likely to opt out of something, like a 401k plan, than opt into it, holding the substance of the choice constant. Wendy gave it to me.
Mom: I've read some of that stuff, it's pretty shallow.
A.: It's based on solid research, I assure you. Especially that example.
Mom: I don't know about that.
Dad: What's Wendy up to these days?
A.: Right now she's driving across the country. She and her husband are moving to Pennsylvania.
Mom: Where?
A.: Central Pennsylvania.
Mom talks about the Poconos; dad points out to her that the Poconos are nowhere near central Pennsylvania. They somehow get into a "so what?"/"I'm just saying" argument.
Mom: So, you're not going anywhere for work?
A.: I will tell you when I know where I'm going for work.
Mom: Who are you friends with these days? Have you forged close, deep friendships at work?
A.: I don't know about 'deep'. I mean, I've been there not quite six months and I spend the vast majority of my time there working. I do have friends at work... I'm also friends with the same people I've been friends with for years.
This is not the first time that my mother has auditioned the concern that I don't have any friends. I think she is genuinely convinced that I don't have friends (after all, I have that overbearing personality) and that I ran away from my former job because I didn't get along with people there, because of my abrasive personality. I'm not sure how to best reassure her that I do, indeed, have friends.
I do feel increasingly good about work. I feel like I'm settling in and finding my way around. I think I've said as much in past conversations but she's not terribly interested.
Anyway, then things got weird.
Mom: I feel that our conversations have gotten formal. It's because we don't talk often enough. I think you should call more.
A.: Or, you could call me when you want to talk. Really, most of the time during the week, making a phone call is the last thing on my mind. I'm mostly focused on getting ready for the next day.
Mom: Me, too.
Yes, I suppose I could sacrifice the forty minutes I spend watching the Daily Show and Colbert Report, but then I would go crazy.
Mom: If you don't have time, what difference does it make who calls?
A.: What difference does it make who calls, anyway? If you want to talk, call me. I don't call, because I usually don't have much to say.
Mom: Even if you just share the little stuff, the mundane stuff. Like, when you see a bunny in the yard.
A.: I told you the other day that I saw a bunny in the yard. Honestly, mom, I'm just in my own world on weeknights. Cycling takes more time. I'm exhausted and famished. I clean up, eat, get my stuff together for the next day, watch some tv, read a bit if I have any brainpower left-- which I usually do not-- and go to bed, later than I should given what time I get up.
All that is true. One or two nights I week, I do go out and spend time with friends, but this is about as much as I can take, and it's worth it but it wears me out. Am I allowed to spend time with the friends my mother doesn't think I have?
There is also what is true but is not said, like I don't want to share the mundane stuff because who the f* cares. It's one thing to say "there's a bunny in the yard" when we're already on the phone; it's another to call to report a bunny sighting, when the bunny is there every day.
I didn't say, 'Why do you find our conversations "formal"? Maybe because you don't listen so you can ask me the same questions on every phone call-- have I been swimming? Am I traveling for work? Do I have AC or ceiling fans? Because you cut off any chance of a substantive conversation? When we were talking about "Nudge," could you have maybe said anything other than, "nope, that's all BS"? Or even supported "that's all BS" with some interesting data?'
I really, really care about my parents and enjoy talking to them, but I don't have enough to say for daily conversation; I couldn't HANDLE daily conversation with mom; and I really am busy and tired. Yes, I blog, and yes I read a lot of news--staying informed to me is as important as exercise. I can't just make stuff up.
I know that the demands on me are different than those of, say, a single mother, or most mothers, or people working multiple jobs (and perhaps also parenting at the same time). There are many people in this world busier and more tired than I am. Nonetheless, I am busy, and usually exhausted. Mom just doesn't appreciate that. She won't admit to herself or anyone else that, being retired, she has free time and a bit more leeway in terms of how she spends her weeknights.
But I didn't say any of this.
Mom: So, do you still go to the gym?
A.: Less so. I go to the one at work now, but usually not on days that I bike.
Mom: Why the one at work?
A.: Because it's there...
Mom: What does biking have to do with not going to the gym?
A.: I don't usually feel the need to go to the gym on days that I cycle twenty miles.
Mom: I just feel that our conversations are increasingly formal.
A.: I don't know what to tell you. I don't feel that are conversations are formal. We can work on that. But I'm not going to call you every day.
We sort of left it there. I also realized later that, naturally, once a weeknight conversation is approaching or has gone past the time I should start getting ready for bed, I'm not exactly going into great detail about my activities or asking my parents about theirs. I can see how at that point the conversation would get "formal."
I'm wondering whether to point out to mom that it's a power thing. Why else would she need me to call her every day, rather than, say, calling me if she wants to talk? There are other things I can point out to my mother, in the vein of 'what's the point of telling you things when you don't listen' and 'I don't go out of my way to tell you about how work is going because you're just going to disparage it.' Maybe it's time to have those conversations.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Blair Witch jogging suit
Mom called me at 9:20pm.
Mom: You're not asleep yet?
One of these days, it will occur to me to ask why she calls when she thinks I may be asleep.
A.: No.
Mom: Could you call me on Skype?
A.: Why?
Mom: I want to show you this jogging suit I bought you.
A.: Could we do this later?
Mom: Well, I'd like to know whether I should return it.
A.: Sure.
***
Mom takes a few minutes to figure out how to make the camera work. It takes Dad several iterations to understand that they are not able to see me because I don't have a camera. I can't really see the jogging suit; the resolution isn't great, especially because their handling of the camera is Blair-witch like. I don't bother saying that I don't need a jogging suit-- we all know how those conversations go. I ask them to stop moving it because it's giving me a headache. It's nice to see them on camera, once the camera stopped moving.
Mom: You're not asleep yet?
One of these days, it will occur to me to ask why she calls when she thinks I may be asleep.
A.: No.
Mom: Could you call me on Skype?
A.: Why?
Mom: I want to show you this jogging suit I bought you.
A.: Could we do this later?
Mom: Well, I'd like to know whether I should return it.
A.: Sure.
***
Mom takes a few minutes to figure out how to make the camera work. It takes Dad several iterations to understand that they are not able to see me because I don't have a camera. I can't really see the jogging suit; the resolution isn't great, especially because their handling of the camera is Blair-witch like. I don't bother saying that I don't need a jogging suit-- we all know how those conversations go. I ask them to stop moving it because it's giving me a headache. It's nice to see them on camera, once the camera stopped moving.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
I'm not talking about the Museum of Fine Arts
Speaking of ROFLMFAO, I'm going to enlist your support with the MFA part.
You see, Wendy gave me for my birthday "Nudge," by Richard H. Thaler and Cass R. Sunstein. It's fascinating and practical. In fact, it's where I first learned about the uncoolest t-shirt study.
I also learned that you are more likely to stick to your plans if you share them with other people. Keeping a food diary hasn't helped me much, so I'm going to bring my food diary online, Bridget Jones' style. Except that I don't smoke. Or drink that much. Or consume Cadbury dairy milks. And I probably won't bore you with the details. But I will bore you with the transgressions.
It's hard for me to pinpoint the moment that things got out of control, because I did not used to weigh myself a lot. I know that when I went to the doctor just before I went to Portugal, i.e., September 2005, I weighed 110; around anti-Valentine's day 2006, I remember weighing 107; and a year later, I remember weighing Gracie by weighing us both together and subtracting my weight, which was then 112. Whenever I did weigh myself in those days, the number on the scale was always between 107 and 112. Then came Australia, New Zealand and my birthday, and the jump to 118. I started to worry, and I started to weigh myself. That summer (last summer) I got down to 114, and stayed around there through Fall. Then, somehow, I got up to 121, which, according to the CDC, is three pounds from overweight. And I can't get back down. Nor can I get many of my clothes onto MFA.
So I've decided to take this three pounds at a time, from simply unacceptable (the current state of affairs, 121) to less embarrassing (118); not great but it'll do for now (115); and then to 112 (welcome back, my favorite jeans). I am not going to go for 107-- that much I will accept as "I am no longer in my twenties."
This is going to take peer pressure, because I hardly have the restraint on my own.
Here are my rules:
On bike-to-work days: 1,500 calories, 80g of protein, more liberal with the carbs
No-bike or other intense activity days: 1,200 calories, 50 g of protein, fewer carbs
No added sugar 5 days/week
If this fails, it's on to South Beach, which I really don't want to do because I'd like to keep cycling. So help me out. Leave me disparaging comments when I break my own rules. Do whatever you need to do.
Thanks!
You see, Wendy gave me for my birthday "Nudge," by Richard H. Thaler and Cass R. Sunstein. It's fascinating and practical. In fact, it's where I first learned about the uncoolest t-shirt study.
I also learned that you are more likely to stick to your plans if you share them with other people. Keeping a food diary hasn't helped me much, so I'm going to bring my food diary online, Bridget Jones' style. Except that I don't smoke. Or drink that much. Or consume Cadbury dairy milks. And I probably won't bore you with the details. But I will bore you with the transgressions.
It's hard for me to pinpoint the moment that things got out of control, because I did not used to weigh myself a lot. I know that when I went to the doctor just before I went to Portugal, i.e., September 2005, I weighed 110; around anti-Valentine's day 2006, I remember weighing 107; and a year later, I remember weighing Gracie by weighing us both together and subtracting my weight, which was then 112. Whenever I did weigh myself in those days, the number on the scale was always between 107 and 112. Then came Australia, New Zealand and my birthday, and the jump to 118. I started to worry, and I started to weigh myself. That summer (last summer) I got down to 114, and stayed around there through Fall. Then, somehow, I got up to 121, which, according to the CDC, is three pounds from overweight. And I can't get back down. Nor can I get many of my clothes onto MFA.
So I've decided to take this three pounds at a time, from simply unacceptable (the current state of affairs, 121) to less embarrassing (118); not great but it'll do for now (115); and then to 112 (welcome back, my favorite jeans). I am not going to go for 107-- that much I will accept as "I am no longer in my twenties."
This is going to take peer pressure, because I hardly have the restraint on my own.
Here are my rules:
On bike-to-work days: 1,500 calories, 80g of protein, more liberal with the carbs
No-bike or other intense activity days: 1,200 calories, 50 g of protein, fewer carbs
No added sugar 5 days/week
If this fails, it's on to South Beach, which I really don't want to do because I'd like to keep cycling. So help me out. Leave me disparaging comments when I break my own rules. Do whatever you need to do.
Thanks!
telephone conversation
Mom: How have you been?
A.: Pretty good. What about you?
Mom: Overall, good, but I've recently been finding it painful to walk. Everything else is great-- I bought a new tv...
A.: Have you seen a doctor about finding it painful to walk?
Mom: No, I'm going to deal with it myself first. See, the small tv in the kitchen broke...
A.: How long has this been going on?
Dad: I agree that she should see a doctor.
Mom: A doctor would just tell me to wear orthopedic shoes, and orthopedic shoes are so ugly.
I did not make any comments about mom's existing comfortable shoes, nor did I point out that Crocs, for which she has shopped, are the definition of hideous (given the choice between wearing Crocs on my feet and carrying a He-Man thermos, I'd opt for the latter).
Mom: Anyway, I suppose I could have tried to fix it, but I just couldn't figure it out, so I just decided to get a new one. I need a tv in the kitchen.
Mom proceeds to talk about the tv for a few minutes.
Mom: Are you still riding to work?
A.: I haven't over the last couple of days, because I've had a cold.
Mom: A cold? How did you get that?
A.: I'm not sure. It's pretty mild, though.
Has mom always been bewildered by easily explained things, like seasonal colds and 4th of July parties that start a few hours before the fireworks? (See last week's blog.)
Mom: Are you going to Oklahoma?
A.: I don't know, it's still up in the air. I'll let you know when I have more details.
This, too, has been going on for years. Mom asks me about upcoming business travel; I tell her it's likely but I don't have details. I'm no happier than she is about not really being able to plan ahead, but that's just the way it is. My supervisor opted out of a trip to the west coast with her family because she, too, is unsure of when we'll be traveling for work (and, I suppose, what in general will be going on with work). The where/when exchanges with mom got old a while ago; I don't understand how they haven't gotten old for her. If I give her any details, she acts upset that I haven't told her before and presses for more details (when, a few weeks ago, I said we might be going to Oklahoma, she asked why I hadn't told her before). Of course, my not having information has never been a reason for mom to stop asking more questions, to which I couldn't possibly know the answers.
Mom: When would you go?
A.: I don't know. I will tell you when I have more details.
Mom: It's probably hot there.
A.: It's hot here, too.
A.: Oh, I sent you all some China pictures...
Dad: When? We haven't gotten anything...
A.: I sent actual photos, by snail mail.
Mom: I don't understand... are they on a CD, or DVD, or...
A.: They are printed photos. On paper.
Mom: Why?
A.: Because I'd ordered some for myself and have found them nice to have, and thought you might like some.
It takes a little bit more explaining before the confusion subsides.
The pictures I sent are mostly family photos. I don't think we're all three together in any of them, but there are quite a few of my parents,
and some of me with one of my parents. There is also that one of me with the hippopotamus, which I think is hilarious. He/she was so friendly, just swam up and wanted to play.
The pictures bring back a lot of great memories from the trip, even though it was full of drama and some stress. It's good to remember the fun stuff, so I just thought I'd share.
A.: Pretty good. What about you?
Mom: Overall, good, but I've recently been finding it painful to walk. Everything else is great-- I bought a new tv...
A.: Have you seen a doctor about finding it painful to walk?
Mom: No, I'm going to deal with it myself first. See, the small tv in the kitchen broke...
A.: How long has this been going on?
Dad: I agree that she should see a doctor.
Mom: A doctor would just tell me to wear orthopedic shoes, and orthopedic shoes are so ugly.
I did not make any comments about mom's existing comfortable shoes, nor did I point out that Crocs, for which she has shopped, are the definition of hideous (given the choice between wearing Crocs on my feet and carrying a He-Man thermos, I'd opt for the latter).
Mom: Anyway, I suppose I could have tried to fix it, but I just couldn't figure it out, so I just decided to get a new one. I need a tv in the kitchen.
Mom proceeds to talk about the tv for a few minutes.
Mom: Are you still riding to work?
A.: I haven't over the last couple of days, because I've had a cold.
Mom: A cold? How did you get that?
A.: I'm not sure. It's pretty mild, though.
Has mom always been bewildered by easily explained things, like seasonal colds and 4th of July parties that start a few hours before the fireworks? (See last week's blog.)
Mom: Are you going to Oklahoma?
A.: I don't know, it's still up in the air. I'll let you know when I have more details.
This, too, has been going on for years. Mom asks me about upcoming business travel; I tell her it's likely but I don't have details. I'm no happier than she is about not really being able to plan ahead, but that's just the way it is. My supervisor opted out of a trip to the west coast with her family because she, too, is unsure of when we'll be traveling for work (and, I suppose, what in general will be going on with work). The where/when exchanges with mom got old a while ago; I don't understand how they haven't gotten old for her. If I give her any details, she acts upset that I haven't told her before and presses for more details (when, a few weeks ago, I said we might be going to Oklahoma, she asked why I hadn't told her before). Of course, my not having information has never been a reason for mom to stop asking more questions, to which I couldn't possibly know the answers.
Mom: When would you go?
A.: I don't know. I will tell you when I have more details.
Mom: It's probably hot there.
A.: It's hot here, too.
A.: Oh, I sent you all some China pictures...
Dad: When? We haven't gotten anything...
A.: I sent actual photos, by snail mail.
Mom: I don't understand... are they on a CD, or DVD, or...
A.: They are printed photos. On paper.
Mom: Why?
A.: Because I'd ordered some for myself and have found them nice to have, and thought you might like some.
It takes a little bit more explaining before the confusion subsides.
The pictures I sent are mostly family photos. I don't think we're all three together in any of them, but there are quite a few of my parents,
and some of me with one of my parents. There is also that one of me with the hippopotamus, which I think is hilarious. He/she was so friendly, just swam up and wanted to play.
The pictures bring back a lot of great memories from the trip, even though it was full of drama and some stress. It's good to remember the fun stuff, so I just thought I'd share.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Masters of the Universe
I don't usually laugh at my own mom stories, largely because they're not very funny to me, even when they don't involve verbal abuse or insult. If they're funny, they're funny in a dry, ironic way, not in the way denoted by that chat term all you cool kids use. ROFLMFAO. There, I found it. I'm not that uncool.
Speaking of uncool, did you know that there was an experiment on the spotlight effect, i.e. one's perception that other people pay much more attention to you than they actually do. Prior to conducting the experiment, they ran some focus groups to determine which personality people would feel most embarrassed to display on one's t-shirt. Who turned out the be the anti-Che? None other than Barry Manilow.
You think I digress, but uncoolness and embarrassment, and perhaps spotlight effect, are quite on topic. I'm getting there.
Anyway, as I was saying, I rarely ROFLMFAO at my mom stories. Even when she complained to me that my high-tech body wash dispenser was inefficient, because too much of the product ended up on the shower walls-- the product being shower cleaner rather than body wash-- my reaction was one of concern and then incredulity rather than hysterical laughter. What was funnier to me than the fact that she actually pushed the button (and expected body wash to come out) was that she a) did not then realize that it was shower cleaner and proceeded to tell me that my body wash dispenser was inefficient and then b) upon my telling her that it was a shower cleaner, proceeded to lecture me on how it was a waste of money.
Then again, sometimes I laugh even when she is insulting me. Remember when I told her that I was going to see "Taming of the Shrew," and she matter-of-factly pointed out that I was a shrew?
Anyway, today I found myself in tears of laughter as I recounted a mom story at work. In a meeting. We were talking about pharmaceutical companies, and the discussion went something like this:
Colleague 1: They're cutting down on their freebies.
Colleague 2: It's just as well, because who wants to carry around a Viagra pen or incorporate into their decor a Cyalis clock.
Colleague 1: My son complained because I tried to send him to school with a Celebrex bag.
A.: My mother once made me... [wiping tears] go to work... [choking on laughter] with a He-Man thermos [wiping tears]. I was living with my parents while I was looking for an apartment in Boston, and every morning it was something else as I tried to get out of the house so I could catch the commuter rail so I could make the boat. It was usually, 'you don't need that sweater, it's hot out' or something. One morning, I was running late and didn't have time to finish my tea, so mom... [laughter, tears] went down to the basement and retrieved... [laughter, tears] a He-Man thermos. It was... [laughter, tears] hideous. It was so embarrassing. I balked, and she accused me of being overly concerned with what people thought. She said... [laughter, tears] the thermos was just fine, she saw nothing wrong with it. I didn't have time to argue with her so I took it. That afternoon I showed it to my friend Heather-- she started braying and then screeching with laughter.
Were I given the choice, I'd rather carry the thermos than wear a Barry Manilow t-shirt.
Speaking of uncool, did you know that there was an experiment on the spotlight effect, i.e. one's perception that other people pay much more attention to you than they actually do. Prior to conducting the experiment, they ran some focus groups to determine which personality people would feel most embarrassed to display on one's t-shirt. Who turned out the be the anti-Che? None other than Barry Manilow.
You think I digress, but uncoolness and embarrassment, and perhaps spotlight effect, are quite on topic. I'm getting there.
Anyway, as I was saying, I rarely ROFLMFAO at my mom stories. Even when she complained to me that my high-tech body wash dispenser was inefficient, because too much of the product ended up on the shower walls-- the product being shower cleaner rather than body wash-- my reaction was one of concern and then incredulity rather than hysterical laughter. What was funnier to me than the fact that she actually pushed the button (and expected body wash to come out) was that she a) did not then realize that it was shower cleaner and proceeded to tell me that my body wash dispenser was inefficient and then b) upon my telling her that it was a shower cleaner, proceeded to lecture me on how it was a waste of money.
Then again, sometimes I laugh even when she is insulting me. Remember when I told her that I was going to see "Taming of the Shrew," and she matter-of-factly pointed out that I was a shrew?
Anyway, today I found myself in tears of laughter as I recounted a mom story at work. In a meeting. We were talking about pharmaceutical companies, and the discussion went something like this:
Colleague 1: They're cutting down on their freebies.
Colleague 2: It's just as well, because who wants to carry around a Viagra pen or incorporate into their decor a Cyalis clock.
Colleague 1: My son complained because I tried to send him to school with a Celebrex bag.
A.: My mother once made me... [wiping tears] go to work... [choking on laughter] with a He-Man thermos [wiping tears]. I was living with my parents while I was looking for an apartment in Boston, and every morning it was something else as I tried to get out of the house so I could catch the commuter rail so I could make the boat. It was usually, 'you don't need that sweater, it's hot out' or something. One morning, I was running late and didn't have time to finish my tea, so mom... [laughter, tears] went down to the basement and retrieved... [laughter, tears] a He-Man thermos. It was... [laughter, tears] hideous. It was so embarrassing. I balked, and she accused me of being overly concerned with what people thought. She said... [laughter, tears] the thermos was just fine, she saw nothing wrong with it. I didn't have time to argue with her so I took it. That afternoon I showed it to my friend Heather-- she started braying and then screeching with laughter.
Were I given the choice, I'd rather carry the thermos than wear a Barry Manilow t-shirt.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Revisiting a classic
I hope this is not the first time I direct your attention to Amy Sutherland's piece on reacting to people, with the purpose of changing their behavior, as you would to exotic animals.
I should point out, before I go into how I should apply this approach to dealing with my mother, that I have a terrible time training my cat. She absorbed some lessons quickly, i.e. waking mommy up means getting sprayed. She's had a harder time accepting that pooping outside the litter box means getting waterboarded*. I've tried Sutherland's approach, i.e. ignore bad behavior, reward good behavior; it's only led to more poop.
*Do not take this too literally. Gracie's so fat that I doubt she has strong lungs, and I have no intention of actually harming her. She does get water poured on her head, though. I doubt it's less pleasant for her than cleaning up her poop is for me.
Anyway, enough about Gracie. This is, after all, a mom blog.
In theory, ignoring mom should work well; I've learned that she's very much after a response, and getting one, in her mind, is a victory. Since much of the time she's out to pick a fight, responding would be giving her what she wants, i.e. reinforcing the behavior. To think that I used to approach her fight-picking from an angle of rationality-- if I could just reason with her, we could come to an agreement, no fighting necessary. This doesn't work because my mother thrives on fighting; starting an argument, to her, is winning, no matter how in the wrong she is. Conversely, she stands to lose from listening to reason, and escalating the volume and acrimony at the expense of dialog is a shrewd, if perhaps subconscious, way to avoid reason. It should follow, then, that ignoring her deprives her of a reaction which she could then escalate into a fight.
But you underestimate my mother.
When ignored, she persists. Recall two episodes from China in which I tried to ignore her. The first was on the way over, when I was watching a movie, headphones on, when she decided to launch into one of her favorite topics: how I've never really been good at anything. It went something like this:
Mom: We took you to the museum for art classes. There were dance classes... HEY! Are you listening to me?? I'm talking to you.
A.: No. I'm watching a movie.
Mom: It's the credits.
A.: I'm listening to the music.
I put my headphones back on.
Mom poked me.
A.: What??
Mom: I'm talking to you! We tried tennis...
The second time, I didn't have the benefit of headphones, nor of an already less-than-idyllic environment that I didn't mind spoiled by mom's ranting. We had just disembarked from a ferry on the Shennong Stream and gotten on a rowboat. All around, everything was beautiful.
Mom: That woman's head is huge! How am I supposed to see anything?
I didn't say, um, look to the sides. We're not in a theatre; the landscape is everywhere.
Mom: I can't believe this! She's ruining this whole experience!
Mom: How can she have such a big head!
Mom: It's just not right. Her head is huge.
This went on for a whole minute or more before I said anything.
A.: Could you please stop?
Mom: Her head is huge!
A.: So what? Look around.
Mom: How dare you tell me how to behave?
A.: You're very close to ruining this.
Dad: She has a point.
Mom: Of course you come to her defense!
And so on.
Paying attention to mom reinforces whatever she's doing. I can hardly positively reinforce more agreeable behavior:
"Thank you for going a whole month without reminding me what a failure I am."
"Thank you for not finding something to complain about in every situation. Have some herring."
"Thank you for not sending me any inflammatory, ignorant forwarded e-mails today, just like I've asked numerous times. Would you like some lox?"
***
Seriously, though... what am I supposed to do? Almost a year ago I took an excellent conflict resolution course that inspired me to be smarter and more strategic in my interactions with my mother. I planned to practice my newly-acquired skills when I visited after the trip to the Canadian Rockies. I don't recall having gotten very far.
I should point out, before I go into how I should apply this approach to dealing with my mother, that I have a terrible time training my cat. She absorbed some lessons quickly, i.e. waking mommy up means getting sprayed. She's had a harder time accepting that pooping outside the litter box means getting waterboarded*. I've tried Sutherland's approach, i.e. ignore bad behavior, reward good behavior; it's only led to more poop.
*Do not take this too literally. Gracie's so fat that I doubt she has strong lungs, and I have no intention of actually harming her. She does get water poured on her head, though. I doubt it's less pleasant for her than cleaning up her poop is for me.
Anyway, enough about Gracie. This is, after all, a mom blog.
In theory, ignoring mom should work well; I've learned that she's very much after a response, and getting one, in her mind, is a victory. Since much of the time she's out to pick a fight, responding would be giving her what she wants, i.e. reinforcing the behavior. To think that I used to approach her fight-picking from an angle of rationality-- if I could just reason with her, we could come to an agreement, no fighting necessary. This doesn't work because my mother thrives on fighting; starting an argument, to her, is winning, no matter how in the wrong she is. Conversely, she stands to lose from listening to reason, and escalating the volume and acrimony at the expense of dialog is a shrewd, if perhaps subconscious, way to avoid reason. It should follow, then, that ignoring her deprives her of a reaction which she could then escalate into a fight.
But you underestimate my mother.
When ignored, she persists. Recall two episodes from China in which I tried to ignore her. The first was on the way over, when I was watching a movie, headphones on, when she decided to launch into one of her favorite topics: how I've never really been good at anything. It went something like this:
Mom: We took you to the museum for art classes. There were dance classes... HEY! Are you listening to me?? I'm talking to you.
A.: No. I'm watching a movie.
Mom: It's the credits.
A.: I'm listening to the music.
I put my headphones back on.
Mom poked me.
A.: What??
Mom: I'm talking to you! We tried tennis...
The second time, I didn't have the benefit of headphones, nor of an already less-than-idyllic environment that I didn't mind spoiled by mom's ranting. We had just disembarked from a ferry on the Shennong Stream and gotten on a rowboat. All around, everything was beautiful.
Mom: That woman's head is huge! How am I supposed to see anything?
I didn't say, um, look to the sides. We're not in a theatre; the landscape is everywhere.
Mom: I can't believe this! She's ruining this whole experience!
Mom: How can she have such a big head!
Mom: It's just not right. Her head is huge.
This went on for a whole minute or more before I said anything.
A.: Could you please stop?
Mom: Her head is huge!
A.: So what? Look around.
Mom: How dare you tell me how to behave?
A.: You're very close to ruining this.
Dad: She has a point.
Mom: Of course you come to her defense!
And so on.
Paying attention to mom reinforces whatever she's doing. I can hardly positively reinforce more agreeable behavior:
"Thank you for going a whole month without reminding me what a failure I am."
"Thank you for not finding something to complain about in every situation. Have some herring."
"Thank you for not sending me any inflammatory, ignorant forwarded e-mails today, just like I've asked numerous times. Would you like some lox?"
***
Seriously, though... what am I supposed to do? Almost a year ago I took an excellent conflict resolution course that inspired me to be smarter and more strategic in my interactions with my mother. I planned to practice my newly-acquired skills when I visited after the trip to the Canadian Rockies. I don't recall having gotten very far.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
metablog
Ah, the emotions elicited by the idea of kids on planes. I can't believe this family has the audacity to complain or to take money from police officers.
On to other things that at least should be hard to believe, check out the first installment in a New York Times series. This is awesome:
“One of the things that drew a very wealthy woman to see me was that she was an inadequate tennis player,” Dr. Wolfe recalled. “She was very serious about this. She felt that the other wealthy women she played with would think she was an inadequate person. It’s easier for rich patients to take problems like this seriously.”
I mean, I may fret about a bunch of BS, but I am well aware that it's a bunch of BS. Let me tell you about Monday:
7:00am-- a bug flies into my eye on the way to work and stings me. It hurts.
12:45pm-- I am hightailing it back to the office from the Library of Congress when I maneuver around some slow-walking tourists. I wipe out, ripping a gash in my relatively new wool trousers.
3:00pm-- My dentist's receptionist informs me that she misunderstood my insurance and that I'll have to pay an additional $125 for the crown. And oh, by the way, there will be another $200+ for the buildup procedure. This will bring my dental total to just about $3,000.
3:30pm-- My dentist, having removed the temporary filling over the root canal, discovers that she is missing the screws needed to perform the procedure (this, apparently, is the responsibility of the receptionist). Yes, I really like this dentist.
7:00pm-- I come home after all this and the first thing I have to do is clean up a steaming pile of cat poop off the porch.
In addition to all this, I don't play tennis. It's one of those things that my mom tried to have me learn, but I never took to it (or anything else, as she likes to remind me).
Anyway, my point is, I'd had better days, but even in the midst of it, I knew it was all BS, because none of that really matters.
Which makes me wonder-- do people need something to worry about? Do they not know what to do with themselves if they don't have a focus for their angst?
***
In other news, I'm once again part of an official category.
Also: I've always thought these people needed a reality check, but especially in light of the conservation fervency gripping the country, you'd think they could get a grip.
On to other things that at least should be hard to believe, check out the first installment in a New York Times series. This is awesome:
“One of the things that drew a very wealthy woman to see me was that she was an inadequate tennis player,” Dr. Wolfe recalled. “She was very serious about this. She felt that the other wealthy women she played with would think she was an inadequate person. It’s easier for rich patients to take problems like this seriously.”
I mean, I may fret about a bunch of BS, but I am well aware that it's a bunch of BS. Let me tell you about Monday:
7:00am-- a bug flies into my eye on the way to work and stings me. It hurts.
12:45pm-- I am hightailing it back to the office from the Library of Congress when I maneuver around some slow-walking tourists. I wipe out, ripping a gash in my relatively new wool trousers.
3:00pm-- My dentist's receptionist informs me that she misunderstood my insurance and that I'll have to pay an additional $125 for the crown. And oh, by the way, there will be another $200+ for the buildup procedure. This will bring my dental total to just about $3,000.
3:30pm-- My dentist, having removed the temporary filling over the root canal, discovers that she is missing the screws needed to perform the procedure (this, apparently, is the responsibility of the receptionist). Yes, I really like this dentist.
7:00pm-- I come home after all this and the first thing I have to do is clean up a steaming pile of cat poop off the porch.
In addition to all this, I don't play tennis. It's one of those things that my mom tried to have me learn, but I never took to it (or anything else, as she likes to remind me).
Anyway, my point is, I'd had better days, but even in the midst of it, I knew it was all BS, because none of that really matters.
Which makes me wonder-- do people need something to worry about? Do they not know what to do with themselves if they don't have a focus for their angst?
***
In other news, I'm once again part of an official category.
Also: I've always thought these people needed a reality check, but especially in light of the conservation fervency gripping the country, you'd think they could get a grip.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
But you can still bring your pets to work
Having discovered that Google is not, in fact, the promised land, a number of Googlers have left recently to join start-ups, hotter companies like Facebook — and even Microsoft.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Someone needs a drink. I think it's me.
Mom: How was the party?
A.: What party?
Mom: You had a party.
A.: I did?
Mom: A party, at work. It's why you didn't come up.
A.: It wasn't a party. It was a meeting.
I never said "party." And I didn't really say that it was why I didn't come up... I just said that there was a meeting (perhaps I said event, something like that) I had to be at. I didn't come up because I spent three weeks with my parents a few months ago and still need a bit more time before I'm willing to immerse myself in dysfunction. I did have a meeting at work, which ended up being canceled-- but I didn't tell her that.
Side note: I ordered some prints from the China trip, particularly family pictures. It was a good trip, I enjoyed spending time with my parents. It was also stressful and I need some time to myself.
Dad: Do they do fireworks at Lincoln Center?
A.: Lincoln Center is in NYC... Washington has a Kennedy Center. The fireworks are on the Mall...
Dad: Huh?
A.: That big stretch of green, where the museums are...
Dad: Wait a minute-- what about that memorial we went to?
A.: There are lots of memorials in DC...
Mom: No, with the fallen soldiers and where we ran into your friend...
A.: The Lincoln Memorial. Yeah, that was the Lincoln Memorial [the Vietnam veterans' memorial leads up to the Lincoln Memorial].
Mom: You're going there?
A.: No, I'm going to a friend's apartment. There's a great view of the fireworks from the building's roof deck.
Mom: When are you going?
A.: I'll probably head over pretty soon... he's expecting people around 6:30.
Mom: So early! It won't be dark yet.
This is true. However, it's not entirely pointless to sit around and talk to interesting people, even while waiting fireworks.
Mom: There's a reception, or something? What is there going to be?
A., getting a little irritated at mom's need to micromanage a social event that I'll be attending: There's going to be people, and food. What else might there be?
Mom: Don't get snippy! I asked you a question! Answer it in a normal tone of voice.
A.: Okay, sorry.
She has a point. If she could hear herself, though! How does she expect me to answer that question? Perhaps I should have said, "there will be a concert pianist and tables set up for highbrow card games to keep us entertained as we guard our roof deck real estate while we await the fireworks."
If you think my annoyance is unjustified, it is because you don't know my mother. She has a habit of asking very detailed questions, sometimes to which I couldn't possibly know the answers, and sometimes to which the answers would mean nothing to her. This habit comes through when she's listening to a joke:
Fictional joke teller: A man walked into a bar...
Mom: What man?
FJT: Just a man.
Mom: What bar?
FJT: It doesn't matter. A bar.
Mom: Why is he going there?
FJT gives up.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better go get ready to stake out my roof deck spot.
A.: What party?
Mom: You had a party.
A.: I did?
Mom: A party, at work. It's why you didn't come up.
A.: It wasn't a party. It was a meeting.
I never said "party." And I didn't really say that it was why I didn't come up... I just said that there was a meeting (perhaps I said event, something like that) I had to be at. I didn't come up because I spent three weeks with my parents a few months ago and still need a bit more time before I'm willing to immerse myself in dysfunction. I did have a meeting at work, which ended up being canceled-- but I didn't tell her that.
Side note: I ordered some prints from the China trip, particularly family pictures. It was a good trip, I enjoyed spending time with my parents. It was also stressful and I need some time to myself.
Dad: Do they do fireworks at Lincoln Center?
A.: Lincoln Center is in NYC... Washington has a Kennedy Center. The fireworks are on the Mall...
Dad: Huh?
A.: That big stretch of green, where the museums are...
Dad: Wait a minute-- what about that memorial we went to?
A.: There are lots of memorials in DC...
Mom: No, with the fallen soldiers and where we ran into your friend...
A.: The Lincoln Memorial. Yeah, that was the Lincoln Memorial [the Vietnam veterans' memorial leads up to the Lincoln Memorial].
Mom: You're going there?
A.: No, I'm going to a friend's apartment. There's a great view of the fireworks from the building's roof deck.
Mom: When are you going?
A.: I'll probably head over pretty soon... he's expecting people around 6:30.
Mom: So early! It won't be dark yet.
This is true. However, it's not entirely pointless to sit around and talk to interesting people, even while waiting fireworks.
Mom: There's a reception, or something? What is there going to be?
A., getting a little irritated at mom's need to micromanage a social event that I'll be attending: There's going to be people, and food. What else might there be?
Mom: Don't get snippy! I asked you a question! Answer it in a normal tone of voice.
A.: Okay, sorry.
She has a point. If she could hear herself, though! How does she expect me to answer that question? Perhaps I should have said, "there will be a concert pianist and tables set up for highbrow card games to keep us entertained as we guard our roof deck real estate while we await the fireworks."
If you think my annoyance is unjustified, it is because you don't know my mother. She has a habit of asking very detailed questions, sometimes to which I couldn't possibly know the answers, and sometimes to which the answers would mean nothing to her. This habit comes through when she's listening to a joke:
Fictional joke teller: A man walked into a bar...
Mom: What man?
FJT: Just a man.
Mom: What bar?
FJT: It doesn't matter. A bar.
Mom: Why is he going there?
FJT gives up.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better go get ready to stake out my roof deck spot.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
phone call
Voice message from Mom: A., just calling to say hello. It's about 9pm. Are you already asleep? Give us a call when you get a chance.
***
One hour later
A.: Hello.
Mom: Hello. Where are you?
A.: Home.
Mom: Where were you? Were you asleep?
A.: I've been home. My phone was silenced-- I had a meeting in the morning and forgot to turn the sound back on afterward.
Mom: How is everything.
A.: Fine...
Mom: What, specifically, is fine? How's the weather? Is it very hot?
A.: Not particularly, it's actually quite pleasant. How are you?
Mom: Fine.
Two minutes later
Mom: How's the weather where you are?
A.: You asked me that two minutes ago.
Mom: I did? What did you say?
A.: Dad, do you remember what I said?
Dad: That it was pleasant.
Mom: Are you going on any business trips?
A.: Very likely, yes.
Mom: Why didn't you tell me!
A.: The details aren't worked out yet.
Mom: Do you know where you'd be going?
A.: Yes [citing three very unexotic locations]
Mom: Oh! Is there flooding there?
A.: No.
Mom: But it's probably very hot.
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: Okay, well, goodnight.
A.: Goodnight.
***
One hour later
A.: Hello.
Mom: Hello. Where are you?
A.: Home.
Mom: Where were you? Were you asleep?
A.: I've been home. My phone was silenced-- I had a meeting in the morning and forgot to turn the sound back on afterward.
Mom: How is everything.
A.: Fine...
Mom: What, specifically, is fine? How's the weather? Is it very hot?
A.: Not particularly, it's actually quite pleasant. How are you?
Mom: Fine.
Two minutes later
Mom: How's the weather where you are?
A.: You asked me that two minutes ago.
Mom: I did? What did you say?
A.: Dad, do you remember what I said?
Dad: That it was pleasant.
Mom: Are you going on any business trips?
A.: Very likely, yes.
Mom: Why didn't you tell me!
A.: The details aren't worked out yet.
Mom: Do you know where you'd be going?
A.: Yes [citing three very unexotic locations]
Mom: Oh! Is there flooding there?
A.: No.
Mom: But it's probably very hot.
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: Okay, well, goodnight.
A.: Goodnight.
pseudo-intellectual drivel
Don't actually read this. It's about as absurd as some of the crap my mom sends me, except from the opposite end of the political spectrum. It came to my inbox through the Smith young alums listserv, which is not supposed to be used for sharing articles, with a note: "this was really powerful for me."
I think it's silly. I'm sorry that this guy doesn't know how to talk to his plumber, but I'm not sure why he needs to blame that on Yale. I'd hate to be one of his students.
I think it's silly. I'm sorry that this guy doesn't know how to talk to his plumber, but I'm not sure why he needs to blame that on Yale. I'd hate to be one of his students.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Hearing voices
This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I recognized my mother's voice in my head. No, I wasn't hallucinating; I was channeling, in a way, and probably not for the first time. I've probably done it my whole life, but I've only recently started to recognize it.
Mom-channeling voice: Hurry up! Why are you taking so long? Why on earth are you making a salad-- how did you get this idea?
A., to self: That sounds like mom talking-- has she infiltrated my mind? I'm not in a hurry. In fact, I think I'll unload the dishwasher.
Different voice: You might want to see someone about the OCD.
Mom-channeling voice: Idiocy! Idiocy!
A., to self: Ignore them. There is no problem? I am not late. I refuse to be in a hurry all the time.
Mom-channeling voice: How does it take you two hours to get ready for work? How? Normal people can be ready in half-an-hour.
A.: I don't have to justify my time management to you. Besides, it's not yet 7am.
***
I could go on, but I don't think you want me to. The point is, I'm continuing to learn to recognize mom's voice in aspects of my life where it's not constructive. A friend of mine went through this, and recognizing it for what it was helped her turn it down. Sometimes mom is right and/or helpful and the things she taught me are valuable. Other times, it's best to tune out the voice.
Mom-channeling voice: Hurry up! Why are you taking so long? Why on earth are you making a salad-- how did you get this idea?
A., to self: That sounds like mom talking-- has she infiltrated my mind? I'm not in a hurry. In fact, I think I'll unload the dishwasher.
Different voice: You might want to see someone about the OCD.
Mom-channeling voice: Idiocy! Idiocy!
A., to self: Ignore them. There is no problem? I am not late. I refuse to be in a hurry all the time.
Mom-channeling voice: How does it take you two hours to get ready for work? How? Normal people can be ready in half-an-hour.
A.: I don't have to justify my time management to you. Besides, it's not yet 7am.
***
I could go on, but I don't think you want me to. The point is, I'm continuing to learn to recognize mom's voice in aspects of my life where it's not constructive. A friend of mine went through this, and recognizing it for what it was helped her turn it down. Sometimes mom is right and/or helpful and the things she taught me are valuable. Other times, it's best to tune out the voice.
Freedom's just another word for...
What's cooler to quote in a judicial ruling, quoting Dylan, Springfield and Simon and Garfunkel or Lewis Carroll?
Also, on standards in education.. I know people who have been promoted for less.
Also, on standards in education.. I know people who have been promoted for less.
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