I told mom I was considering an MFA in creative writing. It had to happen (I had to tell her), and it came up when she asked me if I was going to refinance. Her reaction was better than I thought it would be. At first.
Mom: What? What made you even think about that?
A.: You can thank your Tea Party buddies. I had to wonder about my job security--
Mom: They're absolutely right. Too many do-nothing, overstuffed bureaucrats out there.
A.: Like me?
Mom: Well, no, but...
A.: Anyway, I had to think about what else I might do. And the MFA came to mind.
Mom: How are you going to support yourself?
A.: That's an excellent question.
Mom: Writers don't get paid well.
A.: I know that, mom.
Mom: You could get married.
A.: Huh?
Mom: That's what Lyena did. She hated her job, so she quit to go study from the best voice teachers.
I would have made a snide comment about how I didn't have any millionaire gentlemen callers lined up, but then mom would have reminded me that she did.
A.: Yeah, not really interested in the 'kept' thing. [Not that that's what Lyena's doing.] Look, I am well aware of the financial implications. I don't need your help to keep those in mind.
A few minutes elapsed.
Mom: Look at that bookshelf. Look at all that literature. Now, think about those writers. You think any of them have an MFA? The writing just flowed out of them.
Have we mentioned that mom doesn't write?
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Later Thursday morning
I had enough drama to relate earlier this morning that I didn't feel the need to mention the "what do you mean you don't eat dairy" conversations we've already had this morning.
Mom: What do you mean you don't eat dairy?
A.: You know I don't eat dairy. I've been here three times since I stopped eating dairy.
Mom decides that this is a great reason to sort through the fridge, citing the things I can't eat.
Mom: What does that mean? No cheese?
A.: No.
Mom: So, no feta?
A.: No.
Fridge: BEEP BEEP BEEP!
Mom: No brie??
A.: No.
Mom: Huh!
Fridge: BEEP BEEP BEEP!
A.: Mom, close the fridge!
Mom: No queso blanco?
A. Nope.
Fridge: BEEP BEEP BEEP!
A.: Mom!
Mom: What is your problem?
Mom continues to hold the fridge open and ponder all of the things that I won't eat. The fridge continues to beep.
That was earlier this morning. Just now, mom called me into the living room to listen to Dr. Oz.
Mom: He's talking about the best kind of olive oil!
A.: I already have an olive oil.
The TV is really loud.
A.: Mom, I can't take the noise. I'm leaving.
Mom: Listen to me... [mom talks]
A.: Mom, I can't hear you over the TV. It's you or him.
Mom mutes the TV.
Mom: I am 76 years old? Is that right? Yes, 76. All of my indicators came out excellent, and I eat whatever I want. I eat everything. I eat things I pick up off the floor. And all my indicators are excellent. I mean, except cholesterol. What I'm saying is, you're trying too hard.
A.: I'm not trying hard at all.
Mom: Sure you are.
That's when I left to go blog some more.
Mom: What do you mean you don't eat dairy?
A.: You know I don't eat dairy. I've been here three times since I stopped eating dairy.
Mom decides that this is a great reason to sort through the fridge, citing the things I can't eat.
Mom: What does that mean? No cheese?
A.: No.
Mom: So, no feta?
A.: No.
Fridge: BEEP BEEP BEEP!
Mom: No brie??
A.: No.
Mom: Huh!
Fridge: BEEP BEEP BEEP!
A.: Mom, close the fridge!
Mom: No queso blanco?
A. Nope.
Fridge: BEEP BEEP BEEP!
A.: Mom!
Mom: What is your problem?
Mom continues to hold the fridge open and ponder all of the things that I won't eat. The fridge continues to beep.
That was earlier this morning. Just now, mom called me into the living room to listen to Dr. Oz.
Mom: He's talking about the best kind of olive oil!
A.: I already have an olive oil.
The TV is really loud.
A.: Mom, I can't take the noise. I'm leaving.
Mom: Listen to me... [mom talks]
A.: Mom, I can't hear you over the TV. It's you or him.
Mom mutes the TV.
Mom: I am 76 years old? Is that right? Yes, 76. All of my indicators came out excellent, and I eat whatever I want. I eat everything. I eat things I pick up off the floor. And all my indicators are excellent. I mean, except cholesterol. What I'm saying is, you're trying too hard.
A.: I'm not trying hard at all.
Mom: Sure you are.
That's when I left to go blog some more.
Wait for it...
At exactly 9:33, as I type the post that will show up subsequent to this one...
Mom: You really have gained weight, my dear!
Mom: You really have gained weight, my dear!
Thursday morning
Last night
A.: I'm thinking of bringing my laptop--I have some work I'd like to do that I need the software on my laptop for...
Mom: Why don't you just use our computer?
A.: Because I need the software on my laptop. Anyway, the thing is, my laptop doesn't function as a laptop--the screen is broken so I have to connect it to an external monitor. So, do you have an extra monitor lying around that I could use, and is your wireless completely up and running?
[A few years ago, mom had assured me that the wireless was indeed up and running, but it wasn't, as we found out after I'd already brought my laptop.]
Mom: What? I thought you had a laptop?
A.: I do have a laptop. The screen is broken. I have to hook it up to a monitor.
Mom: A monitor?
A.: Like the ones you have your computers hooked up to. Could I maybe use dad's while he's at work? Or do you have an extra one around the house?
Mom: I don't know. We'll see.
A.: Well, could you find out? I don't want to lug my laptop if I can't use it.
Mom: Meh.
A.: Could you also get the wireless info ready--find your password--so I can use it?
Mom: Meh.
Do y'all remember many years ago, when I asked mom to find out what time a family friend was getting married in New York? We were all going to the wedding. If it was on Saturday night, I'd come up Saturday morning. If it were Saturday afternoon, I'd take Friday off and come up then. She told me it was Saturday afternoon. I took Friday off, spent the afternoon and evening in our cousins' smoky apartment in Brighton Beach. Listening to super-loud Russian TV. The wedding turned out to be on Saturday night, 8pm. It's that Mom can't be bothered to check on things like that before giving an answer.
***
I'm three for three in the last two weeks for just-in-time arrivals to the gate area. I nearly missed my flight back from Phoenix--it was one thing after another that culminated in my running up to the gate ten minutes before departure and wiping out in front of the whole gate area, stuff flying out of my messenger bag. But I made it.
This morning, I was already running not-too-on-time, and several blocks out, I realized I'd forgotten my cord and power supply. I was already lugging the laptop; may as well go back. Got the cord, went back out, was greeted by a just-in-time metro train. I'd factored in some time for the trek to Terminal A, but not enough time. The historic terminal is closed, so the walk was even longer than usual. And the security line was long. And people (other passengers) were not being efficient. But I made it.
I think I subconsciously cut it close because I don't love spending time in airports, and I subconsciously figured I'd be spending time in Logan upon arrival. You may recall that my parents (well, my mother) won't leave the house until I've called from the tarmac once we've landed. God forbid she gets there early and has to circle or wait in the waiting area! She won't even split the difference... in fact, she won't even think about getting ready to leave the house until after I've called. She knows I don't check luggage. She knows flights often get in early. She knows it can be very cold in Boston in December, even though this morning, it wasn't.
Now, you may be thinking I have a sense of entitlement and that I should get my lazy ass on the T, but come on. My parents live a 20-minute drive from the airport, and why am I here flying to Boston, anyway? I'm coming to see them. Is it too much to ask that they come get me at the airport and that they at least try to meet me half-way in terms of wait time? At least, to their credit, they remembered the date and approximate time of my arrival. To her credit, I should say. Dad is pretty good at keeping track of these things.
Anyway, I called upon landing, at 7:30.
Mom: What? You're already there?
A.: [Sigh]
Mom: Alright, I guess we'll come get you.
I called again 25 minutes later to ask if they were close, if I should go outside.
Dad: We're just leaving now.
A.: [Sigh]
They called 15 minutes after that.
Mom: Traffic's just awful. It's going to be a while, so if you have any business to do, this is a good time to do it.
A.: Thanks, but I'm all set.
Mom: Are you sure?
A.: Yes, I'm sure.
Mom: Well, then go outside now.
A.: But you said you weren't even close.
Mom: So? You never know if we'll lose signal closer to the airport. Better go outside now.
A.: Can you estimate how far you are?
Mom: What's your problem? It's nice out?
A.: It's not freezing, but I wouldn't say nice.
Mom: Just go outside. Oh. Dad says 10 minutes.
A.: Fine. I'll come outside in 10 minutes.
***
They found me at the airport. Dad went to work, mom and I had tea. I hooked up my laptop to one of the monitors in the house. I asked mom for her wireless passcode.
Mom: I have no idea?
A.: Do you have it written down somewhere?
Mom: I suppose. Dad likes to write these things down.
Mom brings the notebook with the passwords. I'm able to connect. I check my credit card bill and yell, "WHAT??"
Mom: What happened?
A.: I'll tell you in a minute. I need to fix this.
Mom: What? What happened?
A.: I'll tell you in a minute.
Mom: What's happening?
A.: MOM! I NEED TO FIX THIS!
[Pause]
Mom: What happened?
***
What happened is that I have the least user-friendly credit card on the face of the earth. A couple of months ago, I'd set up auto-pay, whereby my bill is automatically paid from my bank account on the due date. Nobody told me that it would take a month for this to go into effect, so when I saw that my bill was unpaid, I called the card company. Customer Service assured me everything was fine, said the payment had gone through. The following week, I saw on my next statement that it hadn't gone through and that I'd been assessed a finance charge. I called again, was told that everything was fine; the finance charge was refunded. So I thought that everything was fine, until my credit card was rejected at Tastee Diner in Bethesda. Do you know how interesting it is to have one's card declined, not once, but twice, not at Gucci, but at Tastee Diner?
I called the company again. They informed me that the card was indeed declined because I was delinquent on a payment, because the autopay doesn't take effect for a month. Not to worry, they said; it happens all the time. I said I'd pay my bill immediately and asked whether, when the payment is drafted next time around, whether they would draft the full statement amount (including the amount of the last statement, which I'd pay) or the amount minus. Amount minus, they assured me.
Well, they drafted the full f*ing amount. And guess what: I didn't have those extra funds in my checking account. F*ckers. So that's why I yelled, and mom started asking me questions, and I told her to hold off until I'd moved money into that account.
So I moved funds into that account, hoping the payment wouldn't bounce and lead to fees from both financial institutions (it would be the credit card company's fault, but it's not like they're going to refund the bank fee). F*ckers.
I call the credit card company. I deliberately call them from where my mom is not and explain the situation to customer service. Mom sits down in the same room, starts sorting through things, and mumbles to herself. I ask her to be quiet. She then starts chewing loudly. I'm done with the credit card company and go to the other room to call the bank. Mom comes into the room.
Mom: Oh, my! We're missing Dr. Oz!
A.: Mom, I'm on the phone!
Mom stands there, sorts through things while I finish with the bank. I hang up the phone.
Mom: You've gained a lot of weight, from this vegetarian diet of yours.
A.: I'm thinking of bringing my laptop--I have some work I'd like to do that I need the software on my laptop for...
Mom: Why don't you just use our computer?
A.: Because I need the software on my laptop. Anyway, the thing is, my laptop doesn't function as a laptop--the screen is broken so I have to connect it to an external monitor. So, do you have an extra monitor lying around that I could use, and is your wireless completely up and running?
[A few years ago, mom had assured me that the wireless was indeed up and running, but it wasn't, as we found out after I'd already brought my laptop.]
Mom: What? I thought you had a laptop?
A.: I do have a laptop. The screen is broken. I have to hook it up to a monitor.
Mom: A monitor?
A.: Like the ones you have your computers hooked up to. Could I maybe use dad's while he's at work? Or do you have an extra one around the house?
Mom: I don't know. We'll see.
A.: Well, could you find out? I don't want to lug my laptop if I can't use it.
Mom: Meh.
A.: Could you also get the wireless info ready--find your password--so I can use it?
Mom: Meh.
Do y'all remember many years ago, when I asked mom to find out what time a family friend was getting married in New York? We were all going to the wedding. If it was on Saturday night, I'd come up Saturday morning. If it were Saturday afternoon, I'd take Friday off and come up then. She told me it was Saturday afternoon. I took Friday off, spent the afternoon and evening in our cousins' smoky apartment in Brighton Beach. Listening to super-loud Russian TV. The wedding turned out to be on Saturday night, 8pm. It's that Mom can't be bothered to check on things like that before giving an answer.
***
I'm three for three in the last two weeks for just-in-time arrivals to the gate area. I nearly missed my flight back from Phoenix--it was one thing after another that culminated in my running up to the gate ten minutes before departure and wiping out in front of the whole gate area, stuff flying out of my messenger bag. But I made it.
This morning, I was already running not-too-on-time, and several blocks out, I realized I'd forgotten my cord and power supply. I was already lugging the laptop; may as well go back. Got the cord, went back out, was greeted by a just-in-time metro train. I'd factored in some time for the trek to Terminal A, but not enough time. The historic terminal is closed, so the walk was even longer than usual. And the security line was long. And people (other passengers) were not being efficient. But I made it.
I think I subconsciously cut it close because I don't love spending time in airports, and I subconsciously figured I'd be spending time in Logan upon arrival. You may recall that my parents (well, my mother) won't leave the house until I've called from the tarmac once we've landed. God forbid she gets there early and has to circle or wait in the waiting area! She won't even split the difference... in fact, she won't even think about getting ready to leave the house until after I've called. She knows I don't check luggage. She knows flights often get in early. She knows it can be very cold in Boston in December, even though this morning, it wasn't.
Now, you may be thinking I have a sense of entitlement and that I should get my lazy ass on the T, but come on. My parents live a 20-minute drive from the airport, and why am I here flying to Boston, anyway? I'm coming to see them. Is it too much to ask that they come get me at the airport and that they at least try to meet me half-way in terms of wait time? At least, to their credit, they remembered the date and approximate time of my arrival. To her credit, I should say. Dad is pretty good at keeping track of these things.
Anyway, I called upon landing, at 7:30.
Mom: What? You're already there?
A.: [Sigh]
Mom: Alright, I guess we'll come get you.
I called again 25 minutes later to ask if they were close, if I should go outside.
Dad: We're just leaving now.
A.: [Sigh]
They called 15 minutes after that.
Mom: Traffic's just awful. It's going to be a while, so if you have any business to do, this is a good time to do it.
A.: Thanks, but I'm all set.
Mom: Are you sure?
A.: Yes, I'm sure.
Mom: Well, then go outside now.
A.: But you said you weren't even close.
Mom: So? You never know if we'll lose signal closer to the airport. Better go outside now.
A.: Can you estimate how far you are?
Mom: What's your problem? It's nice out?
A.: It's not freezing, but I wouldn't say nice.
Mom: Just go outside. Oh. Dad says 10 minutes.
A.: Fine. I'll come outside in 10 minutes.
***
They found me at the airport. Dad went to work, mom and I had tea. I hooked up my laptop to one of the monitors in the house. I asked mom for her wireless passcode.
Mom: I have no idea?
A.: Do you have it written down somewhere?
Mom: I suppose. Dad likes to write these things down.
Mom brings the notebook with the passwords. I'm able to connect. I check my credit card bill and yell, "WHAT??"
Mom: What happened?
A.: I'll tell you in a minute. I need to fix this.
Mom: What? What happened?
A.: I'll tell you in a minute.
Mom: What's happening?
A.: MOM! I NEED TO FIX THIS!
[Pause]
Mom: What happened?
***
What happened is that I have the least user-friendly credit card on the face of the earth. A couple of months ago, I'd set up auto-pay, whereby my bill is automatically paid from my bank account on the due date. Nobody told me that it would take a month for this to go into effect, so when I saw that my bill was unpaid, I called the card company. Customer Service assured me everything was fine, said the payment had gone through. The following week, I saw on my next statement that it hadn't gone through and that I'd been assessed a finance charge. I called again, was told that everything was fine; the finance charge was refunded. So I thought that everything was fine, until my credit card was rejected at Tastee Diner in Bethesda. Do you know how interesting it is to have one's card declined, not once, but twice, not at Gucci, but at Tastee Diner?
I called the company again. They informed me that the card was indeed declined because I was delinquent on a payment, because the autopay doesn't take effect for a month. Not to worry, they said; it happens all the time. I said I'd pay my bill immediately and asked whether, when the payment is drafted next time around, whether they would draft the full statement amount (including the amount of the last statement, which I'd pay) or the amount minus. Amount minus, they assured me.
Well, they drafted the full f*ing amount. And guess what: I didn't have those extra funds in my checking account. F*ckers. So that's why I yelled, and mom started asking me questions, and I told her to hold off until I'd moved money into that account.
So I moved funds into that account, hoping the payment wouldn't bounce and lead to fees from both financial institutions (it would be the credit card company's fault, but it's not like they're going to refund the bank fee). F*ckers.
I call the credit card company. I deliberately call them from where my mom is not and explain the situation to customer service. Mom sits down in the same room, starts sorting through things, and mumbles to herself. I ask her to be quiet. She then starts chewing loudly. I'm done with the credit card company and go to the other room to call the bank. Mom comes into the room.
Mom: Oh, my! We're missing Dr. Oz!
A.: Mom, I'm on the phone!
Mom stands there, sorts through things while I finish with the bank. I hang up the phone.
Mom: You've gained a lot of weight, from this vegetarian diet of yours.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday evening roundup
What? Almost 80 percent of the public doesn't approve of women wearing shorts?
I think the writers for the Post's "On Parenting" blog are on crack. They go out of their way to defend people who open unpaid-for goods in supermarkets, while slamming philanthropists. There is so much that's wrong with this woman's argument, but I don't need to get into it because the commenters already did.
Oh, Whole Foods. You're funny.
Really, Atlantic?? FYI, if you feel the need to comment on that article, note that I haven't read it, because I have better things to read about than trends in pubic hair.
***
Do you guys know what tomorrow is? Hint: I have reason to believe that there will be a lot of blogging for the next eleven days.
I think the writers for the Post's "On Parenting" blog are on crack. They go out of their way to defend people who open unpaid-for goods in supermarkets, while slamming philanthropists. There is so much that's wrong with this woman's argument, but I don't need to get into it because the commenters already did.
Oh, Whole Foods. You're funny.
Really, Atlantic?? FYI, if you feel the need to comment on that article, note that I haven't read it, because I have better things to read about than trends in pubic hair.
***
Do you guys know what tomorrow is? Hint: I have reason to believe that there will be a lot of blogging for the next eleven days.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Tuesday morning roundup
The Syrian opposition, inadvertently honoring the late, great Vaclav Havel, is embracing resistance through art.
Let's not tackle procedural pests by burning down the Constitution.
How cool is bioluminescence?
Letters from Strip Clubs is an interesting project, but I don't care for its creator's feminist-bashing in this interview. Who? Who is this monolithic cult that decides what is and isn't right for women? And don't tell me it's not about power, when one of the guys writes that it's revenge for all the attractive women who wouldn't talk to them. How does that not translate into leveraging one's financial power against people who don't have it, to have them do something potentially gross? Even EMK's dismissive-if-spot-on take betrays that reality:
While we're on the topic of nudity, Wired provides an argument for minimizing bras. The article is about so much more, but, yes, ladies, men do tend to take us less seriously based on our mammaries.
Let's not tackle procedural pests by burning down the Constitution.
How cool is bioluminescence?
Letters from Strip Clubs is an interesting project, but I don't care for its creator's feminist-bashing in this interview. Who? Who is this monolithic cult that decides what is and isn't right for women? And don't tell me it's not about power, when one of the guys writes that it's revenge for all the attractive women who wouldn't talk to them. How does that not translate into leveraging one's financial power against people who don't have it, to have them do something potentially gross? Even EMK's dismissive-if-spot-on take betrays that reality:
But for the average guy who goes to a strip club once a year for a bachelor party, it’s just a meaningless diversion that combines all of a man’s greatest pleasures: booze, boobs, and his buddies. We get to gawk and point and laugh and drink and bond with our friends before reality sets in and we go home a few hundred dollars lighter…So where does that leave the women being gawked and pointed and laughed at? I can agree with Ms. Breslin: some women love that, are born to do it. But I imagine it's degrading for a bunch of them (and Ms. Breslin acknowledges that), and if I were a guy, I would get little joy out of gawking and laughing at them.
While we're on the topic of nudity, Wired provides an argument for minimizing bras. The article is about so much more, but, yes, ladies, men do tend to take us less seriously based on our mammaries.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Sunday morning roundup: freedom edition
The world has lost Vaclav Havel, but we have his life's work to keep.
The NYPD's penchant for racial profiling has made the community into a police state for some.
The NYPD's penchant for racial profiling has made the community into a police state for some.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Saturday morning roundup
Permafrost is in danger of melting, with catastrophic consequences. That said, I could have done without the frozen-broccoli analogy. Can't say that was helpful. In other potentially catastrophic climate news: it's decision time on the Keystone Pipeline, and there's a lot at stake.
Willie Nelson says Occupy the food system.
Gail Collins on the state of reproductive rights.
Look, you know that I don't think motherhood entitles you to take over the world. I recently got into an argument with a woman whose giant stroller was blocking a congested, narrow passageway inside a holiday market. Do I think she's entitled to take her kid anywhere, just because she feels like it? That's the wrong question... she may be technically entitled, but it's pretty f*ing inconsiderate, and she's not beyond snarky commentary just because she's given birth. But I digress. My point is, I will give clueless parents crap for letting their kids run wild in supermarkets and restaurants; I'll give them crap for parking their strollers in crowded places; I'll give them crap for not even trying to calm down their screaming babies on planes. Now that we've established my anti-entitled-parent cred, let me tell you what all mothers are entitled to do: feed their child without being asked to relocate. Why the hell do the errant security guards think these moms are (somewhat) exposing their breasts? Because they feel like it? Because they're bored? WTF?
Nathan Englander's awesome fiction piece in the New Yorker.
Speaking of awesome, Loudon County's holiday display features some pastafarian flare this year.
Willie Nelson says Occupy the food system.
Gail Collins on the state of reproductive rights.
Look, you know that I don't think motherhood entitles you to take over the world. I recently got into an argument with a woman whose giant stroller was blocking a congested, narrow passageway inside a holiday market. Do I think she's entitled to take her kid anywhere, just because she feels like it? That's the wrong question... she may be technically entitled, but it's pretty f*ing inconsiderate, and she's not beyond snarky commentary just because she's given birth. But I digress. My point is, I will give clueless parents crap for letting their kids run wild in supermarkets and restaurants; I'll give them crap for parking their strollers in crowded places; I'll give them crap for not even trying to calm down their screaming babies on planes. Now that we've established my anti-entitled-parent cred, let me tell you what all mothers are entitled to do: feed their child without being asked to relocate. Why the hell do the errant security guards think these moms are (somewhat) exposing their breasts? Because they feel like it? Because they're bored? WTF?
Nathan Englander's awesome fiction piece in the New Yorker.
Speaking of awesome, Loudon County's holiday display features some pastafarian flare this year.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Thursday morning roundup
Look, I understand that this is supposed to be a poignant article about the future of Loko, so maybe picking at the translations isn't the most appropriate thing to do, but mistranslations bother me too much to let them go. And for some reason, Americans mangle any variation of the Russian "pirog," which simply means cake. You do not eat a "pirogi," because "pirogi" is plural. "Piroshki"--plural of "piroshok," little cake--simply means "little cakes." It does not mean "meat pies." Are there no native speakers in the Times Moscow Bureau that could help them out with this stuff?
On a lighter note: Gail Collins on, among other things, what the campaign's foreign policy rhetoric has come to.
On a lighter note: Gail Collins on, among other things, what the campaign's foreign policy rhetoric has come to.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Wednesday morning roundup
Time chooses well for its Person of the Year.
When U.S. citizens get snared in immigration enforcement measures, the system's abuses and inefficiencies are exposed.
Y'all know I often roll my eyes at Tom Friedman, but when it comes to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict--specifically, the perspective of American Jews therein--he does speak for me.
Is this the best the Times can do in covering the social implications of a closing gender gap? On a side note: I'd never thought to think about, much less worry about, what (the appearance of) my credit card said about me.
Speaking of changing gender dynamics, here are one study's findings on what makes for happily married parents.
Get these buzzwords off your resume.
In honor of the $5 bottle of--I $hit you not--"artisan" water in my hotel room, I give you Lewis Black:
When U.S. citizens get snared in immigration enforcement measures, the system's abuses and inefficiencies are exposed.
Y'all know I often roll my eyes at Tom Friedman, but when it comes to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict--specifically, the perspective of American Jews therein--he does speak for me.
Is this the best the Times can do in covering the social implications of a closing gender gap? On a side note: I'd never thought to think about, much less worry about, what (the appearance of) my credit card said about me.
Speaking of changing gender dynamics, here are one study's findings on what makes for happily married parents.
Get these buzzwords off your resume.
In honor of the $5 bottle of--I $hit you not--"artisan" water in my hotel room, I give you Lewis Black:
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Phone call (from Sunday afternoon)
Mom: Do you have a minute?
A.: Yeah.
Mom: So, we went to see a live telecast of the Metropolitan Opera. You don't have that, right? Anyway, it was Goethe's "Faust." I didn't care for the production, but the music was phenomenal, so it's probably worth seeing if you have the chance.
A.: Thanks, I'll keep an eye out for it.
Mom: You should really read the book. We used to have an excellent translation, I'll look for it or see if I can acquire another one.
A.: That's alright--I'm sure I can find a copy in English.
Mom: No, you should read this translation.
A.: It's a German book. I don't need to read it in Russian.
Mom: Why not read it in Russian? Would it hurt to read it in Russian?
A.: I would get more out of it if I read it in English.
Mom: But this is an excellent translation, and I have to tell you, translation counts for a lot. Believe me.
A.: I know that translation counts for a lot.
Mom: Why do you have to take on that tone? Why can't you just say things?
A.: I'm not reading a Russian translation of "Faust."
Mom: Why not try it.
A.: Is said no, mom.
Mom: Why do you have to be so rude?
A.: Because you don't understand polite. The only time you actually register what I'm saying is when I finally take on a tone. The rest of the time you just keep arguing with me.
Mom: That's no reason to take a tone.
A.: Fine.
Mom: Have you considered getting a small backup generator?
A.: No.
Mom: They're very handy. I was trying to convince your father that we needed one. You should also keep your eye out for one. They go on sale.
A.: Okay.
A.: Yeah.
Mom: So, we went to see a live telecast of the Metropolitan Opera. You don't have that, right? Anyway, it was Goethe's "Faust." I didn't care for the production, but the music was phenomenal, so it's probably worth seeing if you have the chance.
A.: Thanks, I'll keep an eye out for it.
Mom: You should really read the book. We used to have an excellent translation, I'll look for it or see if I can acquire another one.
A.: That's alright--I'm sure I can find a copy in English.
Mom: No, you should read this translation.
A.: It's a German book. I don't need to read it in Russian.
Mom: Why not read it in Russian? Would it hurt to read it in Russian?
A.: I would get more out of it if I read it in English.
Mom: But this is an excellent translation, and I have to tell you, translation counts for a lot. Believe me.
A.: I know that translation counts for a lot.
Mom: Why do you have to take on that tone? Why can't you just say things?
A.: I'm not reading a Russian translation of "Faust."
Mom: Why not try it.
A.: Is said no, mom.
Mom: Why do you have to be so rude?
A.: Because you don't understand polite. The only time you actually register what I'm saying is when I finally take on a tone. The rest of the time you just keep arguing with me.
Mom: That's no reason to take a tone.
A.: Fine.
Mom: Have you considered getting a small backup generator?
A.: No.
Mom: They're very handy. I was trying to convince your father that we needed one. You should also keep your eye out for one. They go on sale.
A.: Okay.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Sunday roundup
Penguins are awesome.
Have you ever read something that just really spoke to you? Here's Merrill Markoe:
Have you ever read something that just really spoke to you? Here's Merrill Markoe:
For the creatively inclined, growing up under the thumb of a good old-fashioned insensitive, dismissive, difficult, or in some cases wholly unbalanced mommy can be a lot like growing up permanently enrolled in a graduate seminar in comedy.”
Friday, December 9, 2011
Friday morning roundup
Russia's creative dissenters have an impact.
War on xmas, political edition:
War on xmas, political edition:
| The Colbert Report | Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c | |||
| Rick Perry's Pro-Christmas Ad | ||||
| ||||
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| The Matzorian Candidate | ||||
| ||||
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Wednesday evening roundup
This is so, so wrong--beyond words wrong--that I almost don't believe it.
On a good day, this next link would take the 'most f*ed up' prize for unconscionable statement from a politician. Alas, today, the previous link takes the cake.
On a lighter note: few of us love chatting with strangers on plane, but what happens when talking about work is embarrassing?
On a good day, this next link would take the 'most f*ed up' prize for unconscionable statement from a politician. Alas, today, the previous link takes the cake.
On a lighter note: few of us love chatting with strangers on plane, but what happens when talking about work is embarrassing?
Wednesday morning roundup
Not for the first time, Massey gets away with murder.
The man behind the attack on Pearl Harbor.
The presidential candidates' foreign policy campaign strategies would be funny if they weren't sad.
Silence is an elusive, powerful thing.
A friend shared this article on foodies from months ago. I agree that the behavior described is annoying, but it's too broad a brush. There are plenty of excellent, unpretentious food writers out there (Ruth Reichl, most contributors to the New Yorker food issue).
And now, some videos:
The man behind the attack on Pearl Harbor.
The presidential candidates' foreign policy campaign strategies would be funny if they weren't sad.
Silence is an elusive, powerful thing.
A friend shared this article on foodies from months ago. I agree that the behavior described is annoying, but it's too broad a brush. There are plenty of excellent, unpretentious food writers out there (Ruth Reichl, most contributors to the New Yorker food issue).
And now, some videos:
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Tree Fighting Ceremony - War on Christmas | ||||
| ||||
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Tuesday morning roundup
Election monitors in Russia go high-tech to expose widespread fraud.
Vermont managed to rebuild efficiently after Hurricane Irene, for the most part.
David Brooks (perhaps) grudgingly writes that the Obama Administration is not on a socialist regulatory rampage.
Vermont managed to rebuild efficiently after Hurricane Irene, for the most part.
David Brooks (perhaps) grudgingly writes that the Obama Administration is not on a socialist regulatory rampage.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Monday evening roundup
The Kimberly Process is officially discredited.
Have you hugged your or someone else's dog today?
Are you sitting down? Because this will have you rolling on the floor with laughter, and then signing the petition on change.org. The funniest part: the claim that the slogan “is likely to cause confusion of the public and dilutes the distinctiveness of Chick-fil-A’s intellectual property.” The distinctiveness of Chick-fil-A's intellectual property. If the distinctiveness of your intellectual property is "Eat mor chikin," you'd best keep that to yourself.
And now, Herman Cain on Libibya:
Have you hugged your or someone else's dog today?
Are you sitting down? Because this will have you rolling on the floor with laughter, and then signing the petition on change.org. The funniest part: the claim that the slogan “is likely to cause confusion of the public and dilutes the distinctiveness of Chick-fil-A’s intellectual property.” The distinctiveness of Chick-fil-A's intellectual property. If the distinctiveness of your intellectual property is "Eat mor chikin," you'd best keep that to yourself.
And now, Herman Cain on Libibya:
Monday morning roundup
Russian voters have had it.
Europe is thawing somewhat, but Turkey has moved on. Sort of.
Asylum detention, while less abusive, is still rampant.
Europe is thawing somewhat, but Turkey has moved on. Sort of.
Asylum detention, while less abusive, is still rampant.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Friday evening roundup
You know how I've had the recurring experience of reading a few paragraphs into a New Yorker article to think, "goodness, this is terrible writing," and inevitably finding Adam Gopnik to be responsible for the offending prose? Well, the good news is, more often than that when I read the New Yorker, I find myself thinking, "this is exceptional writing." In those cases, as well, I often check the author and think, "of course!" Well, one of the writers who takes my breath away whenever he writes is Aleksandar Hemon, who has once again come through with a beautifully written, poignant, evocative, true-ringing piece.
Israel's cultural guilt trip against American Jews backfires.
A friend and I were just having a related conversation--about people's inexplicable struggles with, not to mention regular butchering of, our relatively simple names. Having that experience one's whole life, you wonder why any parent would deliberately name a child with something that begs for mispronunciation. Some parents--including those who give boys girls' names--doom their kids to added challenges. Doesn't it remind you of that old Saturday Night Live episode... "I have a pizza for Asswipe Johnson"/"That's Oz-Wi-Peh!"
Don't talk to your phone in public.
What is a vegan strip club?
***
Over the last year or so, but especially over the last few months, people have pointed out to me with varying levels of tact that I have apparently lost weight. Today, someone said it in the way that you should say it if you're going to say it, so that one's not left wondering how huge one must have been. She said, "Are you... even tinier than you used to be?" It was quite artful.
Israel's cultural guilt trip against American Jews backfires.
A friend and I were just having a related conversation--about people's inexplicable struggles with, not to mention regular butchering of, our relatively simple names. Having that experience one's whole life, you wonder why any parent would deliberately name a child with something that begs for mispronunciation. Some parents--including those who give boys girls' names--doom their kids to added challenges. Doesn't it remind you of that old Saturday Night Live episode... "I have a pizza for Asswipe Johnson"/"That's Oz-Wi-Peh!"
Don't talk to your phone in public.
What is a vegan strip club?
***
Over the last year or so, but especially over the last few months, people have pointed out to me with varying levels of tact that I have apparently lost weight. Today, someone said it in the way that you should say it if you're going to say it, so that one's not left wondering how huge one must have been. She said, "Are you... even tinier than you used to be?" It was quite artful.
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