I win!

I win!, originally uploaded by theredheadedlefty.

What happens when the cable goes.

Who did this amazing portrait of a mouth?

My dentist is really happy, despite the overwhelming odds that he will hate his career and suffer debilitating depression. Totally oblivious! Love him. And something else, too, which occurred to me as I was awaiting the drill, is, Why has no one in the world ever discussed the fact that dentist's offices have gigantic framed (and signed) photographs of mouths hanging like art on their walls? The mouths are gorgeous (but totally American) and it got me thinking about what someone might say about my mouth if it was photographed at close range and framed. SMILE.

I had my cavity filled today and the drilling didn't so much bother me, but talking about it here does (Oh, hell, who am I trying to fool? If you know me, you know I'd fall asleep with a Snickers bar hanging out of my mouth if I wasn't kept awake by the guilt of what that would do to Wynn, growing up with a toofless parent and all who can't control their binge eating). There are more pictures in the room of a trip he took to Yellowstone back in 2001 and one of them is of a giant bear, climbing a hill.

Me: "Do you mind me asking how far away that bear is?"

Him: "Oh, not far at all. From about here to that wall (pointing to the wall that was almost touching at the bottom of my feet, at most 3 feet away)."

Me: "Wow. That's close! How'd you manage the shot?"

Him: "Well, that was back in the day when people used to feed the bears."

Me: "Yeah, how sad. And then they're all breaking into cabins and chasing people's two-toned Wagoneers (or was John Candy in The Great Outdoors?)."

Him: "And I was in a car. So…"

Me: Cutting him off, "Ahhhhh…wu gat crtlee moks uh dffrse (with water and a vacuum in my mouth)."

(That certainly makes a difference.)

Him: "Yeah. But I am not an outdoorsy type person. I figured everyone should probably see Yellowstone. So I went."

Me: …

(How sadder! And who says I'm not an outdoorsy type of person anymore? I must have looked tired and old. Because if this life thing is about only the strong survive, it's sort of weird that my male dentist is presenting himself as a couch potato, right?).

The whole appointment went really well, only I left without feeling in the left side of my mouth. It was pretty cool and very entertaining, but I was slightly stressed about biting a hole in my mouth---which would really make life hard, considering I already have a canker sore right now (which is nothing like the one I had last summer before Erin's wedding, when I poured half a bottle of Kanka in my mouth before each meal, just to eat, fergodsakes).

Ugh.Ugh.Ugh.

We just finished watching No Country for Old Men, which B rented because of some (apparent) unconscious need to torture my sensitive soul. It's almost 11 PM here, past the bedtime, yeah, and I won't be going to sleep anytime soon for fear that some sociopathic man with black bobbed hair curled under is going to come into my home and make me call a coin toss. Well, he can FORGET IT. And if I walk back into my bedroom and he is sitting there with my straightening iron, he is done for.

The movie did suck me in, and there were a lot of moments (like the reflections of Javier Bardem and Tommy Lee Jones in the TV screen) when I was impressed. Those kinds of details always send me into a thoughtful swirly whirly---Was it one person who remembered to add all of those creative details? Or is this some sort of Hollywood money tree where creative professionals were hired to do a polished job?

I wished for a moment that I had access to the Coens' personal email addresses so that I could inquire about their reasoning behind not including any sort of character development (background, interests, history of intimate relationships---I know, ridiculous) for Bardem. But how much more intriguing would it have been if he had not shot the bird on the bridge but instead gone into a murderous rage because someone didn't screw the cap back on their toothpaste? In other words, what was up with his character? Did he just materialize in Texas in his late thirties?

Disclaimer: I haven't read the book.

InStyle Magazine, April: Stream-of-Consciousness

I love, love, love the Eberjey chic intimates on pg. 348. In pink.



Dermatologist Harold Lancer said, "You can invest $500,000 in keeping your face looking youthful, but if your hands are neglected, it's a dead giveaway of true age." That quote is so ridiculous that it makes me happy. My first thought? Tiger Lady.

The ad at the beginning? Estee Lauder? With Gwyneth on the sailboat? When will they ever get it right? All of their ads look so cheap. And the photography is bad. They need to hire Mario Testino.

Ashlee Simpson on Guilty Pleasures: You've Got Mail? Okay, I love Meg Ryan, too (before denial about aging set in). But what about When a Man Loves a Woman? Or Sleepless in Seattle? You've Got Mail was the worst!

Is Paul Mitchell still making hair products? And is that his family in the ads? He gets older but they stay the same age!

What do I think about Camille Grammer? I don't know.

I want the red Reiss dress on pg. 283. I could be getting into color again. How wonderful!

The book that is advertised in The Green Scene? Gorgeously Green? Is it made with 100% recycled paper? And if not, isn't that wasteful?



Angie Harmon makes me want to do something with myself. She always looks gorgeous. About Tory Burch she says, "Tory's a mom. She gets that you don't have a lot of time to get dressed when you're a mommy." Angie, c'mon. I'll give you credit when you acknowledge the nannies who are caring for your kids when you're away at fashion week.

Says Renee Zellweger, "I know the reality of things, and there's always good there. There's no yearning with me. There's intention." Sounds good, but so Hollywood. They all sound so self-actualized. But are they?

The silk scarves on pg. 270 make me drool.

That's all for now, but there's so much more!!! Oh, and I do love reading this magazine.

Just to get it out there...Broken English, the movie.

Every once in a while, B will take extra special care to pick out a Netflix movie that he knows I will LOVE. He handles the Netflix Control Center in our household---there was one time when I was driving home from somewhere and had the random thought, "What in the HELL is wrong with me that I let him dominate our Netflix queue?" When I considered it, though, I realized that I was (mostly) happy and at peace with his selections. He takes great care to ensure variety, which is important when you consider that movies are now our evenings. The people, places, and things we see in movies function as surrogate experiences that we would otherwise be having ourselves (if Wynn was 9 and we were trekking the Great Wall).

Once recent pick was Broken English, with Parker Posey. If you are a female friend of mine---married, dating, single, twenties, thirties, it doesn't matter---please order/get the movie right now.



Here's the synopsis (not written by moi): Writer-director Zoe R. Cassavetes' charming indie yarn follows 30ish New Yorker Nora Wilder (Parker Posey), a single woman in a dead-end job whose friends are all happily engaged romantically. But love seems to elude Nora -- until she meets an oddball Frenchman (played by Melvil Poupaud) who helps her discover life beyond her self-imposed boundaries.

Loved it. Love her! Love him! It's very refreshing and some of the situations she finds herself in are utterly relatable. I know some of your lives are really exciting and you can't remember the last time you watched a movie because it was better than going out, but I don't want to hear any of that crap. Let's talk after you see this. And what is my deal with French actors?

Last night's movie, Green Street Hooligans, was my unfortunate punishment for having made B endure Broken English (though I think he liked it---wink, wink). If you have a science kit from your childhood, just score a bit of testosterone and observe it closely through a microscope. It will be the same experience.

Here's the synopsis (also not written by moi): Drawn into the center of a bogus drug scandal by his wealthy roommate, a high-achieving Harvard newspaper editor (Elijah Wood) is kicked out of school just a few months shy of getting his degree. With nowhere else to go, he flies to the United Kingdom to live with his sister (Claire Forlani) and her family. But his subsequent involvement with the local Green Street Elite -- a gang of violent soccer fans -- could change his life forever.

I didn't finish it because watching gory violence on television makes me really difficult to live with (Sorry! Am I supposed to be entertained by watching a gaggle of grown men beat an 11-yr-old to death? What is wrong with our society?). In his defense, B did not know it was going to be so violent---we were both seduced by the idea that there were promises of higher education and journalism entertainment in the movie. Boo hoo, they did absolutely NOTHING to convince me that he was a high-achieving Harvard newspaper editor (That is out of the way in the first 5 minutes). B finished it, so he may have more to add here.

That about wraps it up. Lemme know what you think of Broken English---and pass along any ideas for future rentals.

Canon/Pentax Debacle and Creve Coeur Camera, Part II

Here it is: I have a self-imposed bedtime of 10 PM. It's 10:15 and I can't tear myself away from this computer, so I am going to give a brief update of the very delirious experience I had when I went to "trade-in" my Pentax (age 2 months) for the Canon Rebel xti.

Basically, they worked it out so that they would apply half of the value of the Pentax (that they convinced me to buy, barf!) to the Canon (which I already owned when I walked into that place for the first time). They then discounted the Canon $50, which I appreciated, and sent me on my merry way (some details not included for the sake of my sleep).

When I got home, Dubbels and I got all worked up about going to look for bugs on the steps out front. Of course, the camera had to be "assembled" and ready to go---a couple of weeks ago, I showed her how to "pick up" the ants by putting your index finger in their paths. As B says, subtlety is lost on her and she has killed a bunch of the poor little guys buy "putting her index finger out" for them to climb. She squishes them. Sad.

Anyway, when I went to load the camera with my memory card, there was another one in its place---and this one was labled CCC, a.k.a. Creve Coeur Camera. So I called and spoke to my guy there. "Ommm, did I just pay full price for a used camera?" "What? I am so embarassed! I will have another in on Friday. I am so sorry."

So, all day I have been so confused. This camera, which was disassembled with the caps on both the lens and the camera body, had clearly been used. So, then, wasn't the sale of the used camera purposeful? Either way, it was fishy. I like the camera, though, and I look forward to picking up a NEW one on Friday.

So, I'm no easy customer---but really. Did that HAPPEN to me? Good lord.

Sleepless Night.

I was up and walking around in the middle of last night more than five times. Dubbels was stirring and making peeps and chirps every now and then and, being the mother that I am (PSYCHO), I fretted that she may be cold (and, thus, had to cover the baby body.

(The cold thing really comes from my own scenario. When hubs and I started our cohabitation arrangement, he hardly slept with a sheet and one old, mangled pillow. I introduced him to the delights of comfort---and you ought to see him now! He has three pillows and he stakes out an oversized portion of our down comforter so that when my other man, G, comes hopping into bed about 1 AM and plops down between us, I end up with an inch of coverage. This is the God's honest truth, people. I wake up sweating because my body's engine is desperately trying to keep me alive in our bedroom/refridgerator).

Disclaimer: If you are male, you may want to stop here.

Anyway, somewhere between 2 and 3 AM, I woke up with about the most intense cramps of my life. They were never a problem for me pre-baby and then, all of a sudden, BAM! It was cry-worthy, but I didn't want to disturb the sleeping-peacefully people, so I got up and wandered the house by myself. (Pity party complete with hats). I took my homeopathic pain reliever, which didn't do freaking ANYTHING and then reached for the good stuff. 1000mg of Ibuprofin, one shower, one hot bath, an email check, a glass of water, and some hot tea later, I bundled up in the fetal position with about 27 pillows and prayed that the almighty would *please* get his/her pieces together and TAKE THE PAIN AWAY. When hubs and dubs came up to get me at 7:30, I had been asleep one hour. But because the pain was gone, I was exuberant and ready to start my day.

Thankfully.

Creve Coeur Camera and the Pentax/Canon Debacle

Here's where I talk about something that is of no interest to you. So, in January I bought a Canon Digital Rebel xti for the sake of growing my interest and experience in photography. Those who know me well know that I bring my camera with me everywhere and am obsessed with recording the daily details of life---family, animals, leaves, skies, cars, choo choos, you name it. The camera was an investment made possible by some of the "Giftmas money" that I received from extended family members. I probably would have put off the purchase had they not been so generous. I had a camera but felt the nagging need for an upgrade---I'd been trolling Flickr sites and was really impressed by some of the amateurs' photogs.

I bought the camera at Best Buy, for no particular reason other than it was easy and they had it. I was really happy with it. Just holding it made me giddy and I couldn't wait to get out and take some pictures. When we were moving, I used it to take a billion pictures of the new house. We didn't move, but I'd bet the real estate agent in charge of selling the house would appreciate having some of my pictures. Fast forward one week to me walking through the door of Creve Coeur Camera, a specialist photography shop, to have a vintage Pentax Camera (Asahi, 1976), my dad's, cleaned and restored to give to my husband as a gift (so that we would have something else to compete with one another about. That's how we roll. And it makes us happy.) Then see me walking out of the shop with a new Pentax K100D SLR camera, driving over to the Best Buy to return the Canon Rebel, and getting home to take pictures. As luck would have it, it was raining that day and I couldn't try it out. Bad camera Karma!

It's been almost two months since CCC convinced me (and I accept some blame here) to buy the Pentax over the Canon. It's my belief that they did it for three reasons:

1. Because I already had a Pentax camera, and all Pentax lenses fit all Pentax cameras.
   
2. The Pentax camera was cheaper and that made me momentarily happy.
   
3. They generally preferred the Pentax.
   

About a week into having my new camera at home, I started to get the itch for my Canon. The Pentax is nice, don't get me wrong, but it just didn't give me that butterflies feeling. In a fit of confusion, I drove back over to CCC to return the camera and get my Canon back, largely because I know me too well, and that FEELING is very important. And this was a major investment for us. But again they convinced me to take it home, try it again, and bring it back---IF I WASN'T HAPPY WITH IT. And so I did. And I made the decision to keep it because I felt sort of spoiled and like someone with way too much time on their hands. And I minimized my concerns over the camera because they weren't "legitimate."

Two nights ago, I stained B for 30 minutes about my Pentax ambivalence. He was really supportive and encouraging of my taking the Pentax back. I am just really torn up about the fact that I had the Canon, worshipped the Canon, but allowed myself to be persuaded into something else. Why did I do that? I am also mad at myself for waiting this long to take it back. I talked to the CCC sales rep yesterday about the possibility of my returning it and buying the Canon (they have a 30 days return policy and we are nearing 2 months). He was somewhat skeptical and said he would get back to me with an answer---though he did not know when that would be.

Oh, the little things…I'll get back to you with more when I hear from CCC.

Have You Seen It?

Have you seen the movie Unfaithful? With Olivier Martinez and Diane Lane? I saw it in college, I think, with my brother and his then-girlfriend and one of our mutual friends. We were home for a holiday break (or something like it) and didn't have much else to do.

The thing is this: That movie and that man and their relationship is so freaking sexy. Everything about it! I remember that after it was over, my brother's girlfriend and I sat around like idiots, saying to each other (like he did to Diane Lane in his French accent in the movie),

"Therrre arrrrre no meestakes, youuu either dooo sumting orrr you don't."

It was so addictive and we competed with each other to see who could sound more realistic. We didn't know my brother was watching and that he was ridiculously pissed at us (or her, rather) for even THINKING that Martinez was sexy and then taking it one step further and actually INCORPORATING him further into our evening. In a very fundamental way. Because that was so much fun and clearly my brother was not entertaining enough.

Anyway, there is this one scene (okay, there are a lot of scenes) that is without a doubt my favorite sex scene ever in a movie. It's the one where she turns and is about to leave his apartment (full of books, all classics, of course) and he rushes after her and just TAKES HER? I know, I am embarassed to be me right now. And she has a tattoo that he notices? And he is the epitome of met-him-when-he-invited-
me-in-off-the-NYC-street-on-a-blustery-day-to-bandage-my-bruised-knee-ness. I mean, would he have had the same appeal if he was a CPA? Totally unrealistic. Would never happen.

And it didn't end well for him. Richard Gere kills him with a snow globe and he ends up at the local landfill, which would have been an appropriate response had Gere seen the video clip I just described. But the film ends and you don't really care that Gere is in jail. You're just sad that someone like the French book dealer died.

I feel good, but darn.

Today I cleaned out my dresser, which previously had about 15 pounds of clothes sitting on top of it waiting to be put away somewhere (that didn't exist). I read a very inspiring article in the local paper that said something like, "If you can't take it out and wear it successfully right now, it needs to go." Now, there are some things about that statement that are a teensy bit over the top, but I'm sticking with the message and making a tax-deductible donation to Goodwill.

The darn part is this---I have been trying all day to come up with the picture that accompanies this story in this week's New Yorker. While it may not be alarming to some, and I'm assuming that at some point the photographer, Miles Aldridge, will have a very famous exhibit of similarly set up photos, I was taken aback by the message of the picture (or, rather, the message I took from it). There's this woman-skeleton (a fitting model, as I believe she is described) standing totally nude, back to the camera (backside totally exposed), in front of Owens and his "fur" guy, who is wearing a lab coat and holding scissors. Apparently, I wasn't the only one to take note of the picture. Click here to see these very sexed-up exchanges.

Sigh. Why the scissors? And the lab coat? And can they at least be pretending to care that she is standing there totally naked?

Things That Are Real

Ms. Wynnie is sick today. She has been sporting a fever of 101.5 or higher since this morning---I’ve been trying to ward it off with infants’ Tylenol, but am frustrated by not knowing what it is. Like every other illness that comes into this otherwise healthful household, it came from daycare, where there is a policy of asking sick kids’ parents to “Please pick up your child if it is possible.” In other words, wintertime is hell.

When she’s sick, she refuses to eat. She clings tightly to me in hopes that I will somehow make it feel better. I know what being sick feels like---it absolutely sucks to be sick as an adult, when you are expected to carry on as if nothing is wrong. (At my old job in DC, HR sent around notices begging people to “Please don’t come to work if you are sick.” People came to work because they felt that their jobs were THAT important and, worse, that their absence would pave the way for someone more ambitious than they to take over their position. So that’s something I struggle with.)

But I can’t imagine being sick as a baby, when you don’t have much (if any) control over your body or environment.

I opted not to bathe her tonight for fear that a warm tub would not help with the fever and that a cool-ish tub would make her miserable. Instead, I put her in pajamas and promised her I would not leave her until she was comfortable enough to fall asleep. We sat together in the rocking chair, her head on my shoulder and her thumb in my belly button, until I could hear her little snores in my ear. I sang “Twinkle, Twinkle.”

When I put her in her crib, she didn’t even stir. I rubbed her back for a bit and wondered how it ever came to be that we (as humans) moved away from things that are real. I often say that the happiest I ever am is when I am in semi-fear for my life (weird, but not), like when I am skiing (and feel a bit out of control) or when I am whitewater rafting (and there was just a hurricane and the water is nuts!). Because during those times we don’t have the interest or time to sit around and ponder all of the things that we could or should be doing to be more successful or recognized. It’s all about think fast---and you better be right! And being spontaneous. And that’s a lot scary and exhilarating, for goodness’ sake. And like my twin (who is in recovery says), “We should do something each day that scares us.”

And so my choo choo train of thought goes ‘round to my social work-related job search over these last couple of months, when I often felt that I was having to beg for something that I didn’t even want (in the least bit). Like, "Please hire me! I can do everything you want me to do (that I don't want to do) and be everything you want me to be (and neglect my family in the process)." And it occurred to me that it just isn’t healthy, period, to strive for something that means nothing to you. And why on earth would I want to have taken a full-time job that would have taken me away from Ms. Wynnie, my baby daughter, my squishy love, when I didn’t have to? And I felt lucky and also so sad that it is certainly the case that many single parents (and married ones, too) have to do that ALL THE TIME because they don’t have options---go someplace that doesn’t even feel real to them because, otherwise, they would be unable to survive. And that is real, too, I guess, but a whole different kind of scary.

Shocking!

Wynn's Fairy Godmother, Righton, arrived in the 'Lou last night on a plane from Atlanta. This family rushed over to meet her at her hotel because we haven't seen her since last summer and when I think about that IT HURTS REAL BAD.

Wynn was a toddler terror, of course, which I can appreciate. Righton brought her a talking Elmo (secretly I had hoped that she would bring her one that didn't make noise) that she dashed around the lobby with while Righton changed (so that we could grab a glass of wine). Things Wynn loved that each took about 5 years off of the end of my life: the escalator (oooh!), the revolving doors ('gin!), and the marble steps (bye, bye!). If you ever see me (frazzled and kooky-eyed) running after my child, I dare you to say something. Parents of toddlers of the world unite!

Righton and her law school debate team are here for some national competition. There are nine students from her law school here. I went to dinner with them (planned not to stay, but, as hubs always points out, I have a serious flaw when it comes to cutting off conversation. There is always more to say). The Schnitzel and Dada left for bathtime, so I was left to psychoanalyze all of these people who, in a few short months, will be making four times what I could expect to be making if I was working full-time as a social worker.

At some point (3 of us got there ahead of everyone else), Righton mentioned to me that one of the other students was their "coach," because she had done the debates as a second year law student (and I guess the expectation was that she knew the routine).

Disclaimer from Righton: You aren't going to like her, Ashley. She's very sheltered. You know, private school, UVA, straight to law school, etc.

Well, this woman-child walks in with blonde highlights (no taller than my inseam) and commands the attention of everyone at the table. She's 25 and already a dictator! "Everyone listen up! This is not a get-drunk competition. You are to check in with me at all times and be present whenever you are expected. You will argue well, that is what you are here to do. I do not want to find out that you have been partying all night and are spending your mornings recovering from a hangover!"

I was simultaneously shocked and amused! What if she was someone's boss? A NIGHTMARE. The others are scared of her. I had to order my dinner early so that I could leave before the others, but Righton didn't because she was scared of being reprimanded.

Here's the thing, sister-dictator: That kinda stuff just wouldn't work with me, which is why I am a social worker (adult learner model, thank you). Oh, and I have given birth and been a POW in my own house for 13 months (without sleep). WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

The Thing About Starbucks.

I came up with this great plan for a low-budget documentary for those of us who get really annoyed with salespeople.

It came from my Starbucks’ experiences, where I order my grande skinny latte (2 sugars) at the drive-through window. Every time I go, I order the same thing. And every time I go, they ask me, “Would you like a delicious pecan-encrusted reduced fat blueberry muffin or an apple-cranberry-orange-spicey-bran gluten-free muffin to go with that?” I always say “No, thank you,” because I am sure that they had the up-sell technique drilled into them by their managers. But what I would rather say is, “No! And I will ask for a freaking muffin if I want one.” Is there a laminated chart on the wall with matching upsells?

Staff:
Regular Latte---Regular Blueberry Muffin, Brownie after 12 Noon
Non-fat Latte or Hot Tea---Something Reduced Fat, Organic Yogurt
Caramel Macchiato---Brownie before or after 12 Noon, Maybe Two

It makes me think of Supersize Me, when Morgan Spurlock had to go up in portion size or quantity only if it was suggested (Don’t you remember when he threw up in the car because his body was dying?). And it often was. And he made a documentary! And look how famous it was.

But think about how often that kind of stuff happens:

-When you take your car in to be serviced,

-At restaurants (Would you like a salad with that?),

-At Wynn’s child’s shoe store (How cute are these socks?),

-The makeup counter (You look great! And this blush would go well with the shadow you picked out),

-Mr. Gabe’s vet (He HAS to be on glucosamine pills, and only the ones we sell here)

-Ordering a new computer (Well, you can’t really do anything without THIS feature, so…),

-Landscaping (Sure, but the fence you have will probably rot soon. It would be easier just to replace it now),

-The botanical garden (Upgrading your membership will allow you to bring guests for free!)

-Charter Communications (We don’t sell basic cable, because our version gives you movies and 8 ESPNS and is only $19.99 more a month).

Puke.

theredheadedlefty

Hi all,
You can now get here by using www.theredheadedlefty.com. Don't have to bother with blogspot. If you do, though, you will still be redirected here. Thanks!

Competition, the married kind.

So, basically, I WIN. First, it was about which Jack Handey quote was funnier (see below). He likes the dinosaurs and I like the ants/aunts.

Last night, I asked him to PLEASE go ahead and fall asleep (which requires he read his book and turn out his light) before I get out of my bath. Because otherwise I would feel rushed and I really wanted to finish this article about a priest father with a secret. I could hear him waiting for me as I soaked in my tub and it just HURT. I ended up sitting on the floor of the bathroom until I got through 3/4 of the story. Guilt got the best of me (because I knew his little eyes were heavy and barely slits) and so I got myself dressed and settled into bed. And then he promptly turned off the light, just as I turned to the last page of my article. Bullocks!

Back to the story though. So, when I read the Jack Handey piece, I couldn't believe how funny it was. I don't think a lot of things are very funny. But this was just what I needed. So when I got to the part about the ants/aunts, I had to share it with someone.

Disclaimer: Whenever something really exciting or awesome or ridiculous happens to me, I always feel like I need to share it with someone. Sometimes I feel a great deal of anxiety about it because I feel like I will never do whatever happened justice.

I jumped up out of my bath, threw open the door (soaked, freezing, and pale) and said, "Can you believe the ants/aunts?"

"Yeah, its funny. How 'bout the dinosaurs?" (He had already mentioned them earlier).

"Yeah, those are funny, but the ants/aunts are just so strange. I mean,how ridiculous are they?"

"The dinosaurs are the best part."

"Hate you."

"Hate you, too."

Okay, so part of that I exaggerated for emphasis but YOU GET THE POINT. This is what happens. So I need you to please click on the link I have provided and put in your two cents. And we won't bite. Promise. B doesn't bare his teeth to anyone but me (wish I could say the same about me! Ha!).

So, after our Handey talk, it turned into this thing where B was running for governor with me, his unfortunate spouse, as the thorn in his side with a dark-ish past. (I'd be the corruption where otherwise there would be none). B, a beacon of light, s shining star.

We agreed that someone from my high school days in the Atlanta 'burbs would probably come to one of his talks and ask whether or not I still smoked pot. I decided that B was right, that he may one day run for governor...but I'd end up winning!

How Things Even Out.

Here's an excerpt from this week's fantastic Shouts and Murmurs:

Maybe you find a nice flat pebble on a riverbank, and when you pick it up and throw it it skips across the water several times. But then the next pebble you can’t even pry loose because, what is this, glue mud? You notice an ant drifting away on a leaf in the water. Then you look up to see your aunt drifting away in a rowboat.

Eventually, I believe, everything evens out. Long ago, an asteroid hit our planet and killed our dinosaurs. But, in the future, maybe we’ll go to another planet and kill their dinosaurs.

To read the entire piece, written by Jack Handey for the New Yorker, click here.

Stream of consciousness.

Thinking about the week:

Flu. Sick. Chills. Bored. Exhausted. Doctor. Job search. Employment. Trying. Cold. Snowy. Winter. Ice. Chills. Headache. Modern Love archives. Mental Health. Social Worker. Vacation. Beach. Warm. Sunny. Days off. Summertime. Maine. Work. Job search. Money. Paycheck. Clients. Home visits. Stop! Car. Safety. Tired. Shower. Fever. Cough Drop. Humidifier. Ann Lamott. Book. Nap. Rest.

Super Tuesday!

I'll be out early,
voting for some hope and change.

Obama.
Obama.
Obama.

Hope to see you at the polls.

Wandering Thoughts.

Whenever I hear that a young person has died, or when someone has died (at any age) tragically, I am always affected by it. Not because I place more importance on that person's life, or because he or she was a "great" person, but because I find it so heartbreaking that whatever led he or she to that place got to that point.

When Brian told me that Heath Ledger died, and I went upstairs to the computer for more information, I found out that he had probably died of a drug overdose. And was found at 3:30 PM in the afternoon---on a Tuesday. A time and day that many of us, with lives of our own, are working or are out running errands and catching up on life (in my case, I was meeting B with W at the coffee shop and making a quick trip to Target for diapers). What is significant about any certain day that leads a person to the brink? Even if this was not a suicide, and it certainly may not be, this man was obviously dealing with some heavy emotional stuff that got to the point of seeming unmaneageable---or unbearable, perhaps.

And I guess his vision as a father to a young daughter died before he did. Because to imagine how such turmoil and emotional pain could come about and eventually mask the excitement and joy (and upsets, of course) of seeing a baby grow into a person seems like the blackest of experiences.

And I guess it makes me sad---to think that some people have so much pain to tolerate and live with---and that sometimes there just aren't the right connections and paths for people to express themselves, be themselves, or love themselves. And how does a person overcome that? How do stigmas against mental health/illness or chemical dependency prevent people in pain from getting the help they need? How do we, as members of communities, support one another in helpful, healthy ways?

All just food for thought. And I hope something that occurs to you, too.

The Moral Instinct

Here's a link to an incredibly interesting article in last Sunday's New York Times magazine. Read it if you have a chance.

An excerpt:

"We all know what it feels like when the moralization switch flips inside us — the righteous glow, the burning dudgeon, the drive to recruit others to the cause. The psychologist Paul Rozin has studied the toggle switch by comparing two kinds of people who engage in the same behavior but with different switch settings. Health vegetarians avoid meat for practical reasons, like lowering cholesterol and avoiding toxins. Moral vegetarians avoid meat for ethical reasons: to avoid complicity in the suffering of animals. By investigating their feelings about meat-eating, Rozin showed that the moral motive sets off a cascade of opinions. Moral vegetarians are more likely to treat meat as a contaminant — they refuse, for example, to eat a bowl of soup into which a drop of beef broth has fallen. They are more likely to think that other people ought to be vegetarians, and are more likely to imbue their dietary habits with other virtues, like believing that meat avoidance makes people less aggressive and bestial.

Much of our recent social history, including the culture wars between liberals and conservatives, consists of the moralization or amoralization of particular kinds of behavior. Even when people agree that an outcome is desirable, they may disagree on whether it should be treated as a matter of preference and prudence or as a matter of sin and virtue. Rozin notes, for example, that smoking has lately been moralized. Until recently, it was understood that some people didn’t enjoy smoking or avoided it because it was hazardous to their health. But with the discovery of the harmful effects of secondhand smoke, smoking is now treated as immoral. Smokers are ostracized; images of people smoking are censored; and entities touched by smoke are felt to be contaminated (so hotels have not only nonsmoking rooms but nonsmoking floors). The desire for retribution has been visited on tobacco companies, who have been slapped with staggering “punitive damages.”

At the same time, many behaviors have been amoralized, switched from moral failings to lifestyle choices. They include divorce, illegitimacy, being a working mother, marijuana use and homosexuality. Many afflictions have been reassigned from payback for bad choices to unlucky misfortunes. There used to be people called “bums” and “tramps”; today they are “homeless.” Drug addiction is a “disease”; syphilis was rebranded from the price of wanton behavior to a “sexually transmitted disease” and more recently a “sexually transmitted infection.”

This wave of amoralization has led the cultural right to lament that morality itself is under assault, as we see in the group that anointed itself the Moral Majority. In fact there seems to be a Law of Conservation of Moralization, so that as old behaviors are taken out of the moralized column, new ones are added to it. Dozens of things that past generations treated as practical matters are now ethical battlegrounds, including disposable diapers, I.Q. tests, poultry farms, Barbie dolls and research on breast cancer. Food alone has become a minefield, with critics sermonizing about the size of sodas, the chemistry of fat, the freedom of chickens, the price of coffee beans, the species of fish and now the distance the food has traveled from farm to plate.

Many of these moralizations, like the assault on smoking, may be understood as practical tactics to reduce some recently identified harm. But whether an activity flips our mental switches to the “moral” setting isn’t just a matter of how much harm it does. We don’t show contempt to the man who fails to change the batteries in his smoke alarms or takes his family on a driving vacation, both of which multiply the risk they will die in an accident. Driving a gas-guzzling Hummer is reprehensible, but driving a gas-guzzling old Volvo is not; eating a Big Mac is unconscionable, but not imported cheese or crème brûlée. The reason for these double standards is obvious: people tend to align their moralization with their own lifestyles."

---Steven Pinkner