Women who ask for a raise are perceived as "significantly less attractive."
The point is, Ms. Palin and Ms. Palin, you chose to continue your pregnancies. All we're saying is, don't take that choice away from the rest of us.
Charles Blow encourages politics watchers to take the long view. Fair enough, but do we really need more of what's happening in Virginia? Even Gail Collins, who starts out with 'fair enough, let those wacky Southerners do their own thing, points out that we're all interconnected (or, in her words, sooner or later everyone has to fly through the Atlanta airport). On a lighter political note, see this Sheneman cartoon.
Allen didn't know it at the time, but he may have the answer to Hello Kitty's woes: cleavers and condom dispensers. Only in Japan--and it makes so much sense for Japan--would you have Anpanman, a character based on a jam-filled pastry.
Meanwhile, China is seeing, encouraging a sort of Confucionist revival.
I'm constantly amazed at people's wishful and simplistic nutritional thinking.
Is your furball normal?
The Liar was awesome. A joy to watch. Go see it.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Friday morning roundup
There really are smarter and stupider ways of eliminating your enemy.
India is dragging its "perpetually decrepit" urban infrastructure into the 21st century, with the Delhi Metro system leading the way. Your move, WMATA.
The Post is down, but I'm going to recommend two or three articles from the print edition, all about Elena Kagan. The first is about how her White House experience is invaluable because of the understanding it gives her of how government--particularly the Executive Branch--works (and doesn't work). Then, see the Ruth Marcus's column about how the assumption that single women are necessarily lesbians is unfortunate. If you'd like, see the article in the Style section about how it's only normal to wonder about sexual orientation, and if Ms. Kagan is a lesbian, it's not like there's anything wrong with that. But that's not the point; the issue is society's perception of single women.
India is dragging its "perpetually decrepit" urban infrastructure into the 21st century, with the Delhi Metro system leading the way. Your move, WMATA.
The Post is down, but I'm going to recommend two or three articles from the print edition, all about Elena Kagan. The first is about how her White House experience is invaluable because of the understanding it gives her of how government--particularly the Executive Branch--works (and doesn't work). Then, see the Ruth Marcus's column about how the assumption that single women are necessarily lesbians is unfortunate. If you'd like, see the article in the Style section about how it's only normal to wonder about sexual orientation, and if Ms. Kagan is a lesbian, it's not like there's anything wrong with that. But that's not the point; the issue is society's perception of single women.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Mangy scavengers...
I traveled to Colorado for work a week and a half after returning from Japan. People in Colorado were really friendly, and even though I'm not generally not one for small talk, it's just fine in some situations. In two such situations, I had to make a conscious effort to respond with airy pleasantries, because Japan was on my mind, but there was no need to talk about it.
I think I told you that the first night there, we ended up going out for Japanese. I ended up ordering green tea ice cream. The waiter thought it was very brave of me, said that it took him a while to get used to it but now he loved it. It struck me as odd, because at that point, green tea ice cream was more normal to me than vanilla.
Then, the morning I left, I had some time in the airport, so I shopped around. In one store, I came upon chocolate-covered peanuts packaged as "deer poop," so I absolutely had to get them for Jason. The woman at the counter said, "those are so good!"
Now, some of you think I have no internal filter, but if that were the case, instead of saying, "oh, that's great!" I'd have said:
"Actually, I don't really care that they're good. I mean, I suppose they may as well be, because Jay's going to eat them anyway--so yes, I'm glad they're good. But that's not why I'm getting them. See, there's this place called Nara Park, with mangy deer--Jay even wrote a haiku about them--they kick/bite/butt/knock down, and poop all over the place..."
I think I told you that the first night there, we ended up going out for Japanese. I ended up ordering green tea ice cream. The waiter thought it was very brave of me, said that it took him a while to get used to it but now he loved it. It struck me as odd, because at that point, green tea ice cream was more normal to me than vanilla.
Then, the morning I left, I had some time in the airport, so I shopped around. In one store, I came upon chocolate-covered peanuts packaged as "deer poop," so I absolutely had to get them for Jason. The woman at the counter said, "those are so good!"
Now, some of you think I have no internal filter, but if that were the case, instead of saying, "oh, that's great!" I'd have said:
"Actually, I don't really care that they're good. I mean, I suppose they may as well be, because Jay's going to eat them anyway--so yes, I'm glad they're good. But that's not why I'm getting them. See, there's this place called Nara Park, with mangy deer--Jay even wrote a haiku about them--they kick/bite/butt/knock down, and poop all over the place..."
Thursday evening roundup
Hawaii's state health department has had enough.
Oh, WashPo! I subscribe to the print edition, and you reward me by putting this image on your front page? Do you think I want to wash my eyes out with soap?
Hopefully this will lead to universal eki-ben, too.
Speidi is usually under my radar, but I can't resist blogging something this slimy.
I love Lewis Black:
Oh, WashPo! I subscribe to the print edition, and you reward me by putting this image on your front page? Do you think I want to wash my eyes out with soap?
Hopefully this will lead to universal eki-ben, too.
Speidi is usually under my radar, but I can't resist blogging something this slimy.
I love Lewis Black:
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Back in Black - Glenn Beck's Nazi Tourette's | ||||
| ||||
Responses to comment and ramble
I think the 'whoever invites, pays' system is a good, logical one. I always feel awkward, like I did over the past week, initiating events where people will inevitably end up buying me drinks. This was my post-birthday/post-parental-visit pick me up gathering, which a friend suggested after she asked what I was doing for my birthday and I said I'd probably be listening to how fat and overbearing I am. Actually, my birthday was fine, apart from the lamp obsession, although my mother did wait--I'd talked to her that morning several times before they left--until dinner, when my father reminded her, to wish me a happy birthday. Which would be less than newsworthy, had she not, first thing Saturday morning, demanded when I was going to wish her a happy Mother's Day. (I replied, 'tomorrow. on Mother's Day.') But I digress.
So, yes, Eastern Europeans do their own birthdays. I usually do--i.e. invite people over, cook, etc. I didn't have time to do that this year, so drinks out it was, and I have to say that it was great to be able to catch up with my friends without having to do any work. My mother kept asking me this get-together as if it were the strangest thing; her questioning matched the tone of her questions about the future metro stop at Potomac Yard, i.e., these were not questions that needed to be asked; they were questions to which one might arrive at the answer with a few seconds of deductive reasoning. E.g., Why? Why would you celebrate your birthday after your birthday? (Answer: to get together with my friends). I dwell on this because this is one of those circumstances under which I end up inevitably snapping at mom: I snap when she interrupts mid-sentence, and I snap when she asks a question or series of questions to which she could deduce the answers with straightforward logic. Who would metro to Potomac Yard? People who shop there. Especially those who don't have cars. For my mother, it may be an extrovert thing that she'd rather just think out loud.
Back to the original issue, though: I think when feasible, Miss Manners' advice holds. That's why the first letter still riles many: people need to stop thinking of hosting as a fundraising opportunity, even for an expensive event like a wedding. If you can't afford a wedding, have a smaller wedding. Don't try to extort from your guests.
So, yes, Eastern Europeans do their own birthdays. I usually do--i.e. invite people over, cook, etc. I didn't have time to do that this year, so drinks out it was, and I have to say that it was great to be able to catch up with my friends without having to do any work. My mother kept asking me this get-together as if it were the strangest thing; her questioning matched the tone of her questions about the future metro stop at Potomac Yard, i.e., these were not questions that needed to be asked; they were questions to which one might arrive at the answer with a few seconds of deductive reasoning. E.g., Why? Why would you celebrate your birthday after your birthday? (Answer: to get together with my friends). I dwell on this because this is one of those circumstances under which I end up inevitably snapping at mom: I snap when she interrupts mid-sentence, and I snap when she asks a question or series of questions to which she could deduce the answers with straightforward logic. Who would metro to Potomac Yard? People who shop there. Especially those who don't have cars. For my mother, it may be an extrovert thing that she'd rather just think out loud.
Back to the original issue, though: I think when feasible, Miss Manners' advice holds. That's why the first letter still riles many: people need to stop thinking of hosting as a fundraising opportunity, even for an expensive event like a wedding. If you can't afford a wedding, have a smaller wedding. Don't try to extort from your guests.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Wednesday morning roundup
New York City may soon be even better represented on the Supreme Court. Protestants won't be represented at all.
The Post summarizes three new books on organics. I appreciate the role of that first company, but if you want to do even better, put down the jarred baby food and make some yourself.
Although it was the headline--which concerned an engaged couple's "fundraiser" party--that drew my attention, it was the second letter that inspired me to post Miss Manner's column. Really, people? You're going to bring up dishwashing gloves in couples' counseling? I really don't know what to say to you.
While we're on advice columns (and bizarre control issues), see this older one from Carolyn Hax. I'm so glad she's addressing the vegetarian guest of honor issue, this being a discussion I've had many a time with my parents (who, by the way, were just fine without meat or chicken this weekend).
The Post summarizes three new books on organics. I appreciate the role of that first company, but if you want to do even better, put down the jarred baby food and make some yourself.
Although it was the headline--which concerned an engaged couple's "fundraiser" party--that drew my attention, it was the second letter that inspired me to post Miss Manner's column. Really, people? You're going to bring up dishwashing gloves in couples' counseling? I really don't know what to say to you.
While we're on advice columns (and bizarre control issues), see this older one from Carolyn Hax. I'm so glad she's addressing the vegetarian guest of honor issue, this being a discussion I've had many a time with my parents (who, by the way, were just fine without meat or chicken this weekend).
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Cultural superiority complexes
In "The Fourth Hand" (John Irving), one way in which a character tries to woo another is by reading a book she liked and sending her passages that resonated with him. When it turns out, passage after passage, that the ones he chooses aren't those she'd have chosen, he realizes that it's not only okay for them to drawn by different parts of the same book, but that it's only normal. There's no reason any two people, no matter how compatible, have to be drawn to the same aspect of a story, or work of art. That's one of the defining features of art: it's personal. It's visceral.
On a more general level, though, being drawn to the same types of art does correlate with compatibility, and not just out of pragmatism. I'd use a food analogy, but I'm the wrong person to present food preferences and their consequences as all practical and not indicative of one's overall personality. You can connecting with people over theater, painting, sculpture, books, music, film, TV, comics, etc. on a much deeper level than you would just verbally exchanging thoughts. I remember sending someone who is now a good friend of mine a short story, after reading a book that she sent me, which her father wrote, that spoke to me--and when she read the story, she knew I got it.
So I'm in no way saying that your choices of 'art' (see play of the same name for a more intellectual discussion of this issue) don't speak to who you are. But I agree with Carolyn on this one--you'd be remiss to judge people by their choices. Like one of the follow-on writers, I think Britney Spears and Kate Hudson are annoying and their music and films, respectively, are dumb. And I doubt I'd be compatible with someone for whom they were the intellectual nourishment. But I, and many people I know, assert our right to our brain candy and only want to tell you to f* off when you have something to say.
Readers of this blog will know that my mom does it--if I'm watching whatever movie is on TV (because how much Fox News or Animal Planet--which are the default channels in my parents' house--need one watch?), she'll start commenting every few minutes on how stupid it is. She'll ask, 'Do you really think this is interesting, thought provoking?' Yes, mom: I watch "Dude, Where's My Car" for intellectual stimulation. Now that I've admitted it, you can stop asking.
I think I've also told you, but I once had a roommate that would come in to see me and the other two roommates watching Soul Food, and would not once pass up the opportunity to make a snide comment, such as, "I'd never guess how smart you guys are based on the crap you watch." It won't surprise you that the three of us are still friends with each other, but not with her.
The point is, people like different things for different reasons. Even if someone does find nourishment for the soul in Britney Spear's "music," that's not an indicator of cultural vacuity. Now, if someone only ever orders burgers and fries, then you can go ahead and judge them. Just kidding.
On a more general level, though, being drawn to the same types of art does correlate with compatibility, and not just out of pragmatism. I'd use a food analogy, but I'm the wrong person to present food preferences and their consequences as all practical and not indicative of one's overall personality. You can connecting with people over theater, painting, sculpture, books, music, film, TV, comics, etc. on a much deeper level than you would just verbally exchanging thoughts. I remember sending someone who is now a good friend of mine a short story, after reading a book that she sent me, which her father wrote, that spoke to me--and when she read the story, she knew I got it.
So I'm in no way saying that your choices of 'art' (see play of the same name for a more intellectual discussion of this issue) don't speak to who you are. But I agree with Carolyn on this one--you'd be remiss to judge people by their choices. Like one of the follow-on writers, I think Britney Spears and Kate Hudson are annoying and their music and films, respectively, are dumb. And I doubt I'd be compatible with someone for whom they were the intellectual nourishment. But I, and many people I know, assert our right to our brain candy and only want to tell you to f* off when you have something to say.
Readers of this blog will know that my mom does it--if I'm watching whatever movie is on TV (because how much Fox News or Animal Planet--which are the default channels in my parents' house--need one watch?), she'll start commenting every few minutes on how stupid it is. She'll ask, 'Do you really think this is interesting, thought provoking?' Yes, mom: I watch "Dude, Where's My Car" for intellectual stimulation. Now that I've admitted it, you can stop asking.
I think I've also told you, but I once had a roommate that would come in to see me and the other two roommates watching Soul Food, and would not once pass up the opportunity to make a snide comment, such as, "I'd never guess how smart you guys are based on the crap you watch." It won't surprise you that the three of us are still friends with each other, but not with her.
The point is, people like different things for different reasons. Even if someone does find nourishment for the soul in Britney Spear's "music," that's not an indicator of cultural vacuity. Now, if someone only ever orders burgers and fries, then you can go ahead and judge them. Just kidding.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Monday morning
This morning, as I was trying to get everything together (breakfast and coffee for all, snacks for the road for them/lunch for me) and making sure they got everything in the car. Which, by the way, they did not. Funny story: mom somehow managed to dumpster-dive a dehumidifier from half a block away. She tossed it into my backyard, and it's still there. And she won't let me throw it out. I have to hold on to this thing. Who knows what's in there?? Where am I going to put it? I don't want it in the house (nor in the backyard). But I digress. This morning:
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! She wants something.
A.: I know, mom.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww! Meeeowwwww! Me. Ow.
A.: Don't make me beat you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! Gracie needs you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww!
Mom: A.! Your cat is talking to you!
A.: Ya think?
Mom: A.! That poor thing.
Gracie: Meow.
Mom: A.! Why don't you feed the poor animal.
A.: Because it's not her breakfast time yet!
Mom: But she's hungry!
A.: She's always hungry.
Gracie: Meeeeooooooowwwwwwwwwww!
Mom: A.!
A.: Mom! I am in the middle of something and you're not helping!
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! She wants something.
A.: I know, mom.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww! Meeeowwwww! Me. Ow.
A.: Don't make me beat you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! Gracie needs you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww!
Mom: A.! Your cat is talking to you!
A.: Ya think?
Mom: A.! That poor thing.
Gracie: Meow.
Mom: A.! Why don't you feed the poor animal.
A.: Because it's not her breakfast time yet!
Mom: But she's hungry!
A.: She's always hungry.
Gracie: Meeeeooooooowwwwwwwwwww!
Mom: A.!
A.: Mom! I am in the middle of something and you're not helping!
Supersize me
You know how if you don't need something for one price, you don't need it for a lower price? Or free?
Like, if you only want a small cookie, getting more cookie for free does not actually add value. Because you don't need more cookie.
Or like how an outfit that does not work for you at full price isn't suddenly going to work for you just because it's on sale.
But we still gravitate toward more cookie and unflattering outfit, because we think we're getting more for less.
Just as I don't need more cookie, or more unflattering outfits, I do not need daily delivery of the Washington Post. When it's delivered, I feel compelled to read it, and it takes forever. It absolutely pays for itself, even when it costs more--and I'll be getting it practically for free. But I don't have time for daily delivery when it cost more. I don't suddenly have time for it even though it's free. What have I done?
Like, if you only want a small cookie, getting more cookie for free does not actually add value. Because you don't need more cookie.
Or like how an outfit that does not work for you at full price isn't suddenly going to work for you just because it's on sale.
But we still gravitate toward more cookie and unflattering outfit, because we think we're getting more for less.
Just as I don't need more cookie, or more unflattering outfits, I do not need daily delivery of the Washington Post. When it's delivered, I feel compelled to read it, and it takes forever. It absolutely pays for itself, even when it costs more--and I'll be getting it practically for free. But I don't have time for daily delivery when it cost more. I don't suddenly have time for it even though it's free. What have I done?
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Sunday
I'm taking out the trash when I hear:
Mom, picking up the Post: Is this paper very leftist?
Dad: Probably not.
Mom: Well, I think it's leftist. I'm not going to read it.
Dad: You may as well read it, for the news if not the opinions.
Mom: Who needs the news?
***
I was afraid I'd disappoint my readership with the news that, throughout the entire weekend, the word "fat" was only used in reference to Gracie. As it happened, at some point this evening, mom came through for you.
Mom: Have you gotten fatter?
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: I think you have.
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: Well, that coat you bought over the winter should be plenty of motivation to lose weight.
***
I'm not sure why--perhaps because I've been better about meditation--but I've been better able to stop back and deconstruct the ridiculousness of much of the dialogue between my mother and me. I'm not yet at the point where I keep my patience indefinitely, but I'm closer than I ever have been.
It's not just that she chooses the most inopportune times to ask questions--and she kept doing it throughout the weekend. Dad would explain something about the gate, and at that moment she'd have to say something. I would have to ask her to wait until he was finished--I mean, you just can't listen to two people talk at the same time. Dad would as well, although he was nicer about it. He would say, "which of these topics is more time-sensitive?"
It's also that we speak different "languages," which I've always known, but I see better now. I've seen it before when I've made the mistake of telling a joke in front of my mother (or watching TV with her). She fixates on things that don't matter, asks too many questions about them, and doesn't draw logical conclusions that could help her figure out what's going on. But it's not limited to jokes.
A.: They're going to build a metro stop here.
Mom: But there's one nearby.
A.: There's BR, which is the one near my house. It's a good hour's walk from the mall. There's nothing between the airport and BR.
Mom: The metro's where those big condo complexes are, right?
A.: Yeah. That's a hike from here.
Mom: But who needs to metro here?
A.: People who shop at Target?
Mom: So you'd metro here?
A.: Occasionally.
It's not that I'm impatient, that it bothers me that this conversation could have been a third of its length. It bothers me that my mother loves to ask questions so much that she doesn't bother to think things through. Or recall when she last asked the question. She gets very sensitive when I call her on that, because she might be under the impression that it's age-related, but I'm not worried, because she's always been like that--always asked the same questions, day after day, especially when she didn't like the response last time around. That's not how age-related memory loss manifests itself. Below is a sampling of the questions my mom's asked me at least once a day since Friday. By today, I just said 'what do you think?' and let dad answer. Because he actually pays attention when I answered the first time.
Mom: You don't eat soup, huh?
Mom: How many people fit in your house when you have parties?
Mom: Do you have friends at work?
Mom: Do you park out back every day?
Mom: Why is Gracie so fat?
Mom: What kind of internet do you have?
I get annoyed because some of those questions are her way of communicating judgment in question form; and because I get sick of having the same conversation repeatedly.
***
Speaking of how many people fit in the house at parties...
A.: I'm sorry mom. I appreciate that you wrapped it and lugged it down here, but it just doesn't work for me. It's not my style.
Mom: Well, hold onto it until it is your style.
A.: I don't have room for it.
Mom: It'll come in handy when you have big sit-down dinners some day.
A.: It still don't like it.
Mom: But it's so practical.
A.: I. Don't. Like. It.
Mom: Fine, I guess we'll take it back.
Except we had to have the conversation many more times.
***
It's been an enjoyable visit overall, and very productive, although I'd hoped for more 'fun.' Part of why I paid someone to install a fence/gate was so that my father wouldn't feel like he had to deal with it next time he visited. But the post-snowmageddon winds blew the gate off its posts, and dad insisted on fixing it. He seemed to enjoy working on it, too. If he's happy, I'm fine with it.
Mom, picking up the Post: Is this paper very leftist?
Dad: Probably not.
Mom: Well, I think it's leftist. I'm not going to read it.
Dad: You may as well read it, for the news if not the opinions.
Mom: Who needs the news?
***
I was afraid I'd disappoint my readership with the news that, throughout the entire weekend, the word "fat" was only used in reference to Gracie. As it happened, at some point this evening, mom came through for you.
Mom: Have you gotten fatter?
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: I think you have.
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: Well, that coat you bought over the winter should be plenty of motivation to lose weight.
***
I'm not sure why--perhaps because I've been better about meditation--but I've been better able to stop back and deconstruct the ridiculousness of much of the dialogue between my mother and me. I'm not yet at the point where I keep my patience indefinitely, but I'm closer than I ever have been.
It's not just that she chooses the most inopportune times to ask questions--and she kept doing it throughout the weekend. Dad would explain something about the gate, and at that moment she'd have to say something. I would have to ask her to wait until he was finished--I mean, you just can't listen to two people talk at the same time. Dad would as well, although he was nicer about it. He would say, "which of these topics is more time-sensitive?"
It's also that we speak different "languages," which I've always known, but I see better now. I've seen it before when I've made the mistake of telling a joke in front of my mother (or watching TV with her). She fixates on things that don't matter, asks too many questions about them, and doesn't draw logical conclusions that could help her figure out what's going on. But it's not limited to jokes.
A.: They're going to build a metro stop here.
Mom: But there's one nearby.
A.: There's BR, which is the one near my house. It's a good hour's walk from the mall. There's nothing between the airport and BR.
Mom: The metro's where those big condo complexes are, right?
A.: Yeah. That's a hike from here.
Mom: But who needs to metro here?
A.: People who shop at Target?
Mom: So you'd metro here?
A.: Occasionally.
It's not that I'm impatient, that it bothers me that this conversation could have been a third of its length. It bothers me that my mother loves to ask questions so much that she doesn't bother to think things through. Or recall when she last asked the question. She gets very sensitive when I call her on that, because she might be under the impression that it's age-related, but I'm not worried, because she's always been like that--always asked the same questions, day after day, especially when she didn't like the response last time around. That's not how age-related memory loss manifests itself. Below is a sampling of the questions my mom's asked me at least once a day since Friday. By today, I just said 'what do you think?' and let dad answer. Because he actually pays attention when I answered the first time.
Mom: You don't eat soup, huh?
Mom: How many people fit in your house when you have parties?
Mom: Do you have friends at work?
Mom: Do you park out back every day?
Mom: Why is Gracie so fat?
Mom: What kind of internet do you have?
I get annoyed because some of those questions are her way of communicating judgment in question form; and because I get sick of having the same conversation repeatedly.
***
Speaking of how many people fit in the house at parties...
A.: I'm sorry mom. I appreciate that you wrapped it and lugged it down here, but it just doesn't work for me. It's not my style.
Mom: Well, hold onto it until it is your style.
A.: I don't have room for it.
Mom: It'll come in handy when you have big sit-down dinners some day.
A.: It still don't like it.
Mom: But it's so practical.
A.: I. Don't. Like. It.
Mom: Fine, I guess we'll take it back.
Except we had to have the conversation many more times.
***
It's been an enjoyable visit overall, and very productive, although I'd hoped for more 'fun.' Part of why I paid someone to install a fence/gate was so that my father wouldn't feel like he had to deal with it next time he visited. But the post-snowmageddon winds blew the gate off its posts, and dad insisted on fixing it. He seemed to enjoy working on it, too. If he's happy, I'm fine with it.
Sunday morning roundup
Guyana weighs some possible ways forward.
Intellectual anti-semitism in Britain.
Frank Rich on media.
You may have hardly thought this possible, but Northern Virginia traffic is actually likely to get worse.
Robin Givhan looks at how the Costume Institute tries or doesn't try to define the American woman through fashion.
The dating scene has always been fraught.
Intellectual anti-semitism in Britain.
Frank Rich on media.
You may have hardly thought this possible, but Northern Virginia traffic is actually likely to get worse.
Robin Givhan looks at how the Costume Institute tries or doesn't try to define the American woman through fashion.
The dating scene has always been fraught.
Saturday afternoon
Mom: You haven't wished me a happy mother's day yet! When is mother's day?
A.: Tomorrow.
Mom: Oh.
We'd just managed to turn into what was supposed to be a quick run to Trader Joe's into a field trip. Mom really, really likes to stop and look around. At everything. My reason for wanting to make it quick was that I realized I was out of coconut milk, and wanted to have enough time for stuff to marinate. It was so bad that when I realized how long my parents were taking just to get ready, I rubbed the various stuff with Thai curry paste, without the milk, just to give it a chance. Good thing, too. So finally, when we got the milk, I wanted to get it into the marinade soonest. But I didn't even unpack the groceries when mom asked for toothpicks (I heard 'toothbrush.')
Mom: Do you have toothpicks?
A.: This minute?
Mom: Is it a problem?
A.: No... What's that noise?
I run upstairs. Someone had left the faucet running.
A.: Good thing you saved all that water by not using that cloth napkin.
Mom: You always have to be right about everything--even the slightest thing. It's an inferiority complex of yours. You should learn to deal with it.
A.: Tomorrow.
Mom: Oh.
We'd just managed to turn into what was supposed to be a quick run to Trader Joe's into a field trip. Mom really, really likes to stop and look around. At everything. My reason for wanting to make it quick was that I realized I was out of coconut milk, and wanted to have enough time for stuff to marinate. It was so bad that when I realized how long my parents were taking just to get ready, I rubbed the various stuff with Thai curry paste, without the milk, just to give it a chance. Good thing, too. So finally, when we got the milk, I wanted to get it into the marinade soonest. But I didn't even unpack the groceries when mom asked for toothpicks (I heard 'toothbrush.')
Mom: Do you have toothpicks?
A.: This minute?
Mom: Is it a problem?
A.: No... What's that noise?
I run upstairs. Someone had left the faucet running.
A.: Good thing you saved all that water by not using that cloth napkin.
Mom: You always have to be right about everything--even the slightest thing. It's an inferiority complex of yours. You should learn to deal with it.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Saturday morning
If you think mom has let anyone forget about the lamp, you don't know my mother.
I hadn't slept well; it was a noisy Friday night, and a couple of people decided to have a middle-of-the-night conversation right outside my house. It's quieter on the alley side, where the guestrooms are, so my parents slept through the night. Anyway, I would have slept later but Gracie decided to be especially vocal around 6am.
I got up, fed her, read the paper. My dad came down, talked for a bit, went back upstairs. Mom still wasn't up. I decided to do yoga.
Not long into it:
Mom: Ask A. where the towels are!
Dad: A., where are the towels?
A.: I gave you two towels last night. They're in the white thing next the closet in your room.
Five minutes later
Dad: I still can't find them.
A.: Just a minute!
Dad: Oh, you did tell me they were here.
A.: I told you both they were there, but whatever. You'd had a long day.
I get back to yoga. I hear bickering.
Dad: It's her house!
Mom: So? I'm entitled to my opinion!
Dad: She's entitled to her decor!
Mom: I just can't believe it! Look at all of these inadequate lamps!
Dad: Next time, don't ask. Just bring it.
Mom: That's a good idea.
I'm still doing yoga.
Mom: A.! Do you have a comb!
A.: Just a minute.
Mom: And not a nightgown! Do you need a nightgown?
A.: No.
Mom: Dad's right: the way to go is to just bring stuff without asking permission.
A.: Mom, I sleep in t-shirts and boxers and always will. I have no use for "nightgowns."
Mom: It's just so dark everywhere!
A.: It is?
Mom: I mean, it's not now, but it will be at night! That's why you need a lamp.
A.: There are overhead lamps in all these rooms, plus table lamps.
Mom: That lamp could go so many places.
A.: I really don't want to hear about this lamp all weekend.
Mom: I don't care what you want!
A.: What do you all want for breakfast?
Dad: Whatever you usually have for breakfast.
A.: I usually have oatmeal, which you don't abide.
Dad: I'll have eggs then.
A.: Okay.
I get our respective breakfasts ready. Mom keeps asking unrelated questions.
A.: How many eggs do you want?
Mom, from the other room: The cat's rubbing up against me. What does that mean?
A.: I don't know, mom. You've had cats longer than I have.
Dad: Two, please.
A.: Non-stick or cast iron?
Dad: Whatever you normally use.
A.: It doesn't matter: just tell me and I'll get whichever.
Mom: Do you believe in high power?
A.: What?
Mom: Do you believe in high power?
A.: I don't understand the question.
Mom: She's rubbing up against me again. What does that mean?
A.: I don't know, mom.
Mom: Like, spirituality. Do you believe in higher meaning and stuff?
[Clattering noise from near the pot rack in the kitchen]
A.: What are you doing??
Dad: You said to just take whichever skillet I wanted.
A.: No, I said tell me and I'd get it for you.
Dad: Where's the salt?
Mom: Or do you just believe in what's physically visible?
A.: Right here.
Mom: She's rubbing up against me again. What does that mean?
Mom asked for tea before breakfast, and something sweet to go with it.
Mom: You don't have dried fruit?
A.: No. I've plenty of fresh fruit.
Mom: I'll have chocolate, then. What about nuts?
A.: That we can do.
Mom: Walnuts are the best. Edgar Casey says almonds, too.
A.: Various nuts are good for you in various ways. You don't have to stick with one.
Mom: Generally, walnuts are the best.
Dad found the chocolate they'd brought for the road. Mom had a good candy-bar-sized chunk. We had breakfast.
Mom: I can't finish this oatmeal! I can't believe you can eat all that oatmeal! I just don't eat that much.
We were going to go for a walk after breakfast, but mom crashed so dad started working on the fence. Later, when mom and I were planting stuff, he called me out to help him. He started explaining what to do.
Mom: You have so much clay in your soil!
A., Dad: Just a minute, mom!
Mom: I can help! What can I do?
She comes over. Dad continues to explain. Mom continues to talk.
Mom: What about this?
Dad: Just wait a second.
It's like over the holidays, when I was undoing whatever clusterf* she'd gotten into on her new laptop. She thought it was helpful to look over my shoulder and suggest things, even though she had no idea what was going on.
Mom: You'll definitely need wheels.
A.: Mom!
Dad: T.!
At some point in the morning, dad walked by one of my coffee tables, which still bore evidence of my pathetic and short-lived effort to learn Katakana.
Dad: Did you actually try to learn a few words in Japanese?
A.: I learned more than a few words. I learned lots of words. Just hardly any that were useful.
Dad asked about it. I demoed the program.
RS: [Sentence in Japanese]
Mom, simultaneously: What is he saying?
A.: Mom!
Repeat. And repeat again. RS is hard enough without someone talking over it.
Dad said he wouldn't need us for a bit, so I suggested to mom that we walk down to the Russian store, just for her to see it. He said to look at smoked fish. I warned mom it was lame and overpriced. Nonetheless, she walked in, looked at a few things, and stormed out.
A.: What is wrong with you?
Mom: I've seen enough! This is pathetic.
A.: Of course it is.
She then launched into a lecture about how much less things cost at the Russian stores in Boston.
A.: I know that mom. I thought you might be curious. And dad said to look at smoked fish.
Mom: I knew just from looking at the frozen stuff--we need nothing from there!
A.: Did you not want to take another thirty seconds to walk through?
Mom: No! I've seen enough!
A.: Okay.
I hadn't slept well; it was a noisy Friday night, and a couple of people decided to have a middle-of-the-night conversation right outside my house. It's quieter on the alley side, where the guestrooms are, so my parents slept through the night. Anyway, I would have slept later but Gracie decided to be especially vocal around 6am.
I got up, fed her, read the paper. My dad came down, talked for a bit, went back upstairs. Mom still wasn't up. I decided to do yoga.
Not long into it:
Mom: Ask A. where the towels are!
Dad: A., where are the towels?
A.: I gave you two towels last night. They're in the white thing next the closet in your room.
Five minutes later
Dad: I still can't find them.
A.: Just a minute!
Dad: Oh, you did tell me they were here.
A.: I told you both they were there, but whatever. You'd had a long day.
I get back to yoga. I hear bickering.
Dad: It's her house!
Mom: So? I'm entitled to my opinion!
Dad: She's entitled to her decor!
Mom: I just can't believe it! Look at all of these inadequate lamps!
Dad: Next time, don't ask. Just bring it.
Mom: That's a good idea.
I'm still doing yoga.
Mom: A.! Do you have a comb!
A.: Just a minute.
Mom: And not a nightgown! Do you need a nightgown?
A.: No.
Mom: Dad's right: the way to go is to just bring stuff without asking permission.
A.: Mom, I sleep in t-shirts and boxers and always will. I have no use for "nightgowns."
Mom: It's just so dark everywhere!
A.: It is?
Mom: I mean, it's not now, but it will be at night! That's why you need a lamp.
A.: There are overhead lamps in all these rooms, plus table lamps.
Mom: That lamp could go so many places.
A.: I really don't want to hear about this lamp all weekend.
Mom: I don't care what you want!
A.: What do you all want for breakfast?
Dad: Whatever you usually have for breakfast.
A.: I usually have oatmeal, which you don't abide.
Dad: I'll have eggs then.
A.: Okay.
I get our respective breakfasts ready. Mom keeps asking unrelated questions.
A.: How many eggs do you want?
Mom, from the other room: The cat's rubbing up against me. What does that mean?
A.: I don't know, mom. You've had cats longer than I have.
Dad: Two, please.
A.: Non-stick or cast iron?
Dad: Whatever you normally use.
A.: It doesn't matter: just tell me and I'll get whichever.
Mom: Do you believe in high power?
A.: What?
Mom: Do you believe in high power?
A.: I don't understand the question.
Mom: She's rubbing up against me again. What does that mean?
A.: I don't know, mom.
Mom: Like, spirituality. Do you believe in higher meaning and stuff?
[Clattering noise from near the pot rack in the kitchen]
A.: What are you doing??
Dad: You said to just take whichever skillet I wanted.
A.: No, I said tell me and I'd get it for you.
Dad: Where's the salt?
Mom: Or do you just believe in what's physically visible?
A.: Right here.
Mom: She's rubbing up against me again. What does that mean?
Mom asked for tea before breakfast, and something sweet to go with it.
Mom: You don't have dried fruit?
A.: No. I've plenty of fresh fruit.
Mom: I'll have chocolate, then. What about nuts?
A.: That we can do.
Mom: Walnuts are the best. Edgar Casey says almonds, too.
A.: Various nuts are good for you in various ways. You don't have to stick with one.
Mom: Generally, walnuts are the best.
Dad found the chocolate they'd brought for the road. Mom had a good candy-bar-sized chunk. We had breakfast.
Mom: I can't finish this oatmeal! I can't believe you can eat all that oatmeal! I just don't eat that much.
We were going to go for a walk after breakfast, but mom crashed so dad started working on the fence. Later, when mom and I were planting stuff, he called me out to help him. He started explaining what to do.
Mom: You have so much clay in your soil!
A., Dad: Just a minute, mom!
Mom: I can help! What can I do?
She comes over. Dad continues to explain. Mom continues to talk.
Mom: What about this?
Dad: Just wait a second.
It's like over the holidays, when I was undoing whatever clusterf* she'd gotten into on her new laptop. She thought it was helpful to look over my shoulder and suggest things, even though she had no idea what was going on.
Mom: You'll definitely need wheels.
A.: Mom!
Dad: T.!
At some point in the morning, dad walked by one of my coffee tables, which still bore evidence of my pathetic and short-lived effort to learn Katakana.
Dad: Did you actually try to learn a few words in Japanese?
A.: I learned more than a few words. I learned lots of words. Just hardly any that were useful.
Dad asked about it. I demoed the program.
RS: [Sentence in Japanese]
Mom, simultaneously: What is he saying?
A.: Mom!
Repeat. And repeat again. RS is hard enough without someone talking over it.
Dad said he wouldn't need us for a bit, so I suggested to mom that we walk down to the Russian store, just for her to see it. He said to look at smoked fish. I warned mom it was lame and overpriced. Nonetheless, she walked in, looked at a few things, and stormed out.
A.: What is wrong with you?
Mom: I've seen enough! This is pathetic.
A.: Of course it is.
She then launched into a lecture about how much less things cost at the Russian stores in Boston.
A.: I know that mom. I thought you might be curious. And dad said to look at smoked fish.
Mom: I knew just from looking at the frozen stuff--we need nothing from there!
A.: Did you not want to take another thirty seconds to walk through?
Mom: No! I've seen enough!
A.: Okay.
And then there's the just-not-listening
Last night
A.: Let me show you how to turn off the alarm in case you want to go outside in the morning before I'm up.
Dad: That's alright, I won't.
A.: Are you sure.
Dad: Yes.
A.: Okay, but remember not to open the door without disarming it.
I didn't disarm it when I came downstairs because my parents were still asleep. Mom still is. Dad came down looking for something or other. He went for the door.
A.: Dad!
Dad: What??
A.: What did I tell you about not opening the door unless you've turned off the alarm?!
Dad: I forgot.
I disarmed it, showed him how to use it. But the point is, would it hurt to listen? I don't say these things for my health. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if the alarm went off--I'd have turned it off. It would have woken mom, but it's not that early anymore. But if I'd been in the shower, for example, we'd have had problems.
A.: Let me show you how to turn off the alarm in case you want to go outside in the morning before I'm up.
Dad: That's alright, I won't.
A.: Are you sure.
Dad: Yes.
A.: Okay, but remember not to open the door without disarming it.
I didn't disarm it when I came downstairs because my parents were still asleep. Mom still is. Dad came down looking for something or other. He went for the door.
A.: Dad!
Dad: What??
A.: What did I tell you about not opening the door unless you've turned off the alarm?!
Dad: I forgot.
I disarmed it, showed him how to use it. But the point is, would it hurt to listen? I don't say these things for my health. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if the alarm went off--I'd have turned it off. It would have woken mom, but it's not that early anymore. But if I'd been in the shower, for example, we'd have had problems.
Saturday morning roundup
Note to Tea Partiers: just because you chase away the fringiest of your element, doesn't mean racism isn't a big part of your platform.
I thought that rites and celebrations like weddings were about sharing important times in your life with the people you love; apparently, some people think it's more about having wedding pictures unmarred by overweight friends.
Gail Collins reminds us how nice it is to have avoided the era of the weasel testicles.
I thought that rites and celebrations like weddings were about sharing important times in your life with the people you love; apparently, some people think it's more about having wedding pictures unmarred by overweight friends.
Gail Collins reminds us how nice it is to have avoided the era of the weasel testicles.
Responses to comments
(1) Thanks for the birthday wishes!
(2) ETC, your husband's spot on--"your problem is our problem" is what any relationship is about. That's why, for example, back in the day before I knew better than not to travel with my mother, I was horrified that she would say things like, "well, I'm pulling over at McDonald's because I like it." Mind you, in her case, it was all about making that statement, but it also reflected a missing of the point: we're in this together; it's worth finding something that works for everyone (including when there's something right next door).
(2) ETC, your husband's spot on--"your problem is our problem" is what any relationship is about. That's why, for example, back in the day before I knew better than not to travel with my mother, I was horrified that she would say things like, "well, I'm pulling over at McDonald's because I like it." Mind you, in her case, it was all about making that statement, but it also reflected a missing of the point: we're in this together; it's worth finding something that works for everyone (including when there's something right next door).
napkin refusal
There was another fun part about dinner I forgot to tell you about. Keep in mind that my mom had botched oral surgery, so when she eats, she gets food all over the outside of her mouth. She needs napkins.
Mom: Could I have a napkin?
A.: They're in that vase.
Mom: Where?
A.: There.
Mom: Oh, no!
A.: What?
Mom: I can't do that.
A.: Why not.
Mom: Then you'd have to wash it. It would be wasteful.
A.: I'd throw it in the wash with all my other laundry. It wouldn't change anything.
Mom: Otherwise you'd throw in something else.
A.: No, I wouldn't.
Mom: It's a waste of water!
A.: Well, paper napkins are a waste of paper, and you just throw them out afterward.
Mom: I don't. I reuse them. I use them to clean the floor.
A.: I reiterate that washing these cloth napkins will change nothing in terms of water consumption. And I add that that kind of water consumption is a drop in the bucket compared to that involved in (1) the manufacturing of plastic water bottles and (2) the meat industry. If you're concerned about water, stop eating cows.
Mom: Then what are you going to do with all the cows?
A.: Stop raising them!
Mom: I know. I know about the methane...
Dad: All of that stuff has been debunked.
A.: It absolutely has not. It's just science.
Mom: I know it's bad, but what are you going to do?
A.: Stop eating cows! And have a cloth napkin.
Mom: No!
Mom: Could I have a napkin?
A.: They're in that vase.
Mom: Where?
A.: There.
Mom: Oh, no!
A.: What?
Mom: I can't do that.
A.: Why not.
Mom: Then you'd have to wash it. It would be wasteful.
A.: I'd throw it in the wash with all my other laundry. It wouldn't change anything.
Mom: Otherwise you'd throw in something else.
A.: No, I wouldn't.
Mom: It's a waste of water!
A.: Well, paper napkins are a waste of paper, and you just throw them out afterward.
Mom: I don't. I reuse them. I use them to clean the floor.
A.: I reiterate that washing these cloth napkins will change nothing in terms of water consumption. And I add that that kind of water consumption is a drop in the bucket compared to that involved in (1) the manufacturing of plastic water bottles and (2) the meat industry. If you're concerned about water, stop eating cows.
Mom: Then what are you going to do with all the cows?
A.: Stop raising them!
Mom: I know. I know about the methane...
Dad: All of that stuff has been debunked.
A.: It absolutely has not. It's just science.
Mom: I know it's bad, but what are you going to do?
A.: Stop eating cows! And have a cloth napkin.
Mom: No!
Friday, May 7, 2010
Friday night dinner
I can't complain so far. I mean, on one hand, Mom has just now stopped complaining about the lamp that I convinced her not to bring. And she's only stopped because she's gone to bed. But I've not heard anything about the size of my butt, or my detrimental-to-the-soul decor. I have fielded many questions and comments about the size of my cat, but that's to be expected. Mom even asked me why I fed her so little if she's going to be fat anyway. She's a cat, she said; may as well let her enjoy her life.
But the lamp talk started the second she walked in the door.
Mom: That's the lamp you have in here?! That lamp? The lamp we have is so much better.
A.: [Shrug]
Dad: You're tired. Just sit for a minute without feeling like you need to say anything.
Every few minutes, as I was getting dinner together, I heard something like this:
Mom: I don't understand. Now how am I going to get you that lamp.
And just before she went to bed, she went on about how the lamp would work in that guestroom, too.
And every time I brought something out in the kitchen--including flatware--she said, "you didn't buy that, did you? you know we have plenty of that."
And--I'd forgotten to tell you guys about the shoe discussion over the phone, in which she threatened to bring me sandals and I begged her not to. Well, she brought them anyway, and they're butt-ugly. Mom often has good taste in shoes, but--and this is saying a lot--I have enough shoes in my life.
A.: I'm not taking these, mom.
Mom: Why not?
A.: Because I don't need any more shoes.
Mom: You never know.
A.: Fine. Also because they're hideous.
Mom: They're great.
A.: No.
For five minutes, while dad and I were unloading the car, she would alternate lamp talk with, "look at where that plant is! plants need light." I pointed out that the plant was right in front of the glass door, and that normally the curtain was drawn. She let it go.
Mom calmed down once she sat down, had a snack or too (dad has a point: it's not surprising she was in a mood). Dinner went well; I threw some stuff on the stove and in the oven, made a salad and fruit salad, put out some appetizers they'd brought from the Russian store in Boston. I'll take them to the one here tomorrow just for fun; I've warned them it's pretty lame. They also brought a nice wine; it was good to have a glass. I don't usually open bottles, since I don't go through them before they go off, so it was a rare treat.
Oh, there was drama over the shrimp. Dad asked if he could help, so I told him he could make salad or peel the shrimp I'd just boiled. He opted for the latter, said it came out well. I told him it was just a drop of vinegar and Old Bay. Mom saw it.
Mom: Do you have cocktail sauce?
A.: No, but even if I did, I'd recommend against it. It's pretty good plain.
Mom: Hah!
Dad: Really, it is.
Coming from him, that means a lot.
Mom: I'm old and set in my ways. You can't tell me what to do!
A.: Well, you don't have to have any.
Mom: I'm hungry, so I'll have some. But you can't tell me what to do. I've gone this far having cocktail sauce. You can't stop me.
A.: I just don't have any. I didn't, like, spill it all out before you got here just to spite you.
Mom: But you're telling me not to have any in my house.
A.: I am?
Mom: Aren't you?
Dad: I didn't hear anything about that.
Mom: Well, I don't want to hear any lectures about what's healthy.
A.: [Shrug]
Later
Mom: These are really good tomatoes.
A.: They're the heirloom tomatoes from Trader Joe's; they're the best non-organic tomatoes around. I served them at AV day and people loved them.
Mom: Organics are a bunch of hippie crap!
A.: [Sigh].
And so it went. But it was very peaceful, as dinners with my family go. Very low on criticism, too.
I'll keep you guys posted.
But the lamp talk started the second she walked in the door.
Mom: That's the lamp you have in here?! That lamp? The lamp we have is so much better.
A.: [Shrug]
Dad: You're tired. Just sit for a minute without feeling like you need to say anything.
Every few minutes, as I was getting dinner together, I heard something like this:
Mom: I don't understand. Now how am I going to get you that lamp.
And just before she went to bed, she went on about how the lamp would work in that guestroom, too.
And every time I brought something out in the kitchen--including flatware--she said, "you didn't buy that, did you? you know we have plenty of that."
And--I'd forgotten to tell you guys about the shoe discussion over the phone, in which she threatened to bring me sandals and I begged her not to. Well, she brought them anyway, and they're butt-ugly. Mom often has good taste in shoes, but--and this is saying a lot--I have enough shoes in my life.
A.: I'm not taking these, mom.
Mom: Why not?
A.: Because I don't need any more shoes.
Mom: You never know.
A.: Fine. Also because they're hideous.
Mom: They're great.
A.: No.
For five minutes, while dad and I were unloading the car, she would alternate lamp talk with, "look at where that plant is! plants need light." I pointed out that the plant was right in front of the glass door, and that normally the curtain was drawn. She let it go.
Mom calmed down once she sat down, had a snack or too (dad has a point: it's not surprising she was in a mood). Dinner went well; I threw some stuff on the stove and in the oven, made a salad and fruit salad, put out some appetizers they'd brought from the Russian store in Boston. I'll take them to the one here tomorrow just for fun; I've warned them it's pretty lame. They also brought a nice wine; it was good to have a glass. I don't usually open bottles, since I don't go through them before they go off, so it was a rare treat.
Oh, there was drama over the shrimp. Dad asked if he could help, so I told him he could make salad or peel the shrimp I'd just boiled. He opted for the latter, said it came out well. I told him it was just a drop of vinegar and Old Bay. Mom saw it.
Mom: Do you have cocktail sauce?
A.: No, but even if I did, I'd recommend against it. It's pretty good plain.
Mom: Hah!
Dad: Really, it is.
Coming from him, that means a lot.
Mom: I'm old and set in my ways. You can't tell me what to do!
A.: Well, you don't have to have any.
Mom: I'm hungry, so I'll have some. But you can't tell me what to do. I've gone this far having cocktail sauce. You can't stop me.
A.: I just don't have any. I didn't, like, spill it all out before you got here just to spite you.
Mom: But you're telling me not to have any in my house.
A.: I am?
Mom: Aren't you?
Dad: I didn't hear anything about that.
Mom: Well, I don't want to hear any lectures about what's healthy.
A.: [Shrug]
Later
Mom: These are really good tomatoes.
A.: They're the heirloom tomatoes from Trader Joe's; they're the best non-organic tomatoes around. I served them at AV day and people loved them.
Mom: Organics are a bunch of hippie crap!
A.: [Sigh].
And so it went. But it was very peaceful, as dinners with my family go. Very low on criticism, too.
I'll keep you guys posted.
Friday evening roundup
I loved traveling in Japan, but I can't disagree with the following:
***
In case you're wondering, my parents are still on the road. I was a bit stressed because I couldn't leave work as early as I'd wanted, but I needn't have fussed. Although I guess I should take this opportunity to mop...
"...until now, the tourism market has been geared almost exclusively to domestic travelers, which means that much of the tourist infrastructure does not meet the expectations of foreign tourists."and
"The pace of destruction gathered speed in the 1990s, when more than 40,000 old wooden homes disappeared from central Kyoto, according to the International Society to Save Kyoto.And I care for the Paris cupcake trend even less than I do for the one in DC.
Though the city still has ancient temples and gardens, they are overwhelmed by a sprawling mass of gray buildings and neon signs — the product of ineffective zoning policies in the city, Mr. Kerr said."
***
In case you're wondering, my parents are still on the road. I was a bit stressed because I couldn't leave work as early as I'd wanted, but I needn't have fussed. Although I guess I should take this opportunity to mop...
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