Last night, my son played me a new song. He prefaced the playing by telling me that it was very sad, but brilliant.
Well, I've been emotional these last few days, and it seemed like the timing for a sad song was not great, but he's my son and I love him, so I acquiesced.
The song is called Personal, by Stars, and the lyrics are as follows.
[Wanted:]
Single f, under 33, must enjoy the sun, must enjoy the sea
[Sought by single m:] Mrs.Destiny, send photo to address, is it you and me?
[Reply to single m:]
My name is Caroline cell phone number here, call if you have the time
28 and bored, grieving over loss, sorry to be heavy but heavy is the cost, heavy is the cost
[Reply to Caroline:]
Thanks so much for response, these things can be scary
Not always what you want
How about a drink? The St.Jude club at noon?
I'll phone you first I guess
I hope I see you soon!
I never got your name, I assume you're 33
Your voice it sounded kind
I hope that you like me
When you see my face, I hope that you don't laugh
I'm not a film-star beauty
I sent a photograph
I hope that you don't laugh...
[Note to single m:]
Why did you not show up?
I waited for an hour and finally gave up
I thought once that I saw you, I thought that you saw me
I guess we'll never meet now
It wasn't meant to be
I was sure that you saw me, but it wasn't meant to be
[Wanted:]
single f, under 33, must enjoy the sun, must enjoy the sea
Sought by single m:
nothing too heavy, send photo to address
is it you?
or me?
I almost had to leave the room. Because it wasn't just that the lyrics were so sad (and they were). It wasn't just the combination of the lyrics with the heartbreakingly beautiful melody. What really finished me off was the nonverbal portion.
The female part came quickly, words almost tumbling one over the other as she replied. The male part was slower. There were pauses, and those pauses continued to lengthen. By the end, it was almost too intense to listen to. There has only ever been one other song to invoke that sort of intense emotion within me upon first listen, so this was huge.
Hunter wanted to play it again, and I said no. He started to anyway, so eager was he to convince me of the beauty of it, and when he did, I had to leave the room.
And then I started to think about it. Though the theme of a woman who had suffered a loss trying to find love and being brutally rejected was tragic, that woman could have had it a lot worse. She was lucky to have found someone who made no secret of the fact that he was an asshole, though he did reveal himself in an underhanded way. She was lucky that the relationship never developed, because what kind of person does that? Certainly not the type that you want in your life long-term.
And then I REALLY started to think about it. This song brings up an interesting point. We all just want to be happy. Many of us achieve that happiness in a relationship, or so we think. The beginning is all puppy love and obsession, and it feels nice. It feels like the most amazing thing in the world, and why didn't anyone ever tell us love was this big? This beautiful? We neglect other parts of our lives, so wrapped up are we in that other person.
Then the new wears off, and this relationship starts to require work, and the next thing you know, you're not sure the last time that you had a real conversation. Maybe you have kids together, or have a demanding job, and you forget to focus on your significant other. And then...he or she is gone, and the crushing grief kicks in. You really loved that person. He or she was your life, and meant everything to you. You can't think of anything else but how happy you were with them, even if, while you were in that relationship, you weren't really focused on it. You start to think you're miserable and will never be happy again.
That kind of thinking, and I can say it because I've been guilty of it, is STUPID. You cannot depend on someone else to be in charge of your happiness. The only person who can control your emotions...is you.
Absolutely, mourn the end of a relationship. Absolutely, take a little time to feel sorry for yourself, to wallow in self-pity, to eat up all the ice cream you can find and listen to the song he played for you when he declared his love for the first time.
And then man up and move on.
You owe it to yourself, the person that you will spend every waking moment with for the entirety of your lifetime. You owe it to yourself to realize that the relationship you have with YOU needs to be the best thing you ever experienced.
Get to know yourself. Obsess over what makes you happy. Find your comfort zone.
Be your own best friend.
And maybe someday you will find your soul mate, but there is no sense in even trying to do that if you don't like yourself. If YOU don't like you, why on earth should anyone else?
So, to that girl in the song, and I know she is everywhere in the world, don't pin your hopes on him. Grieve your loss first, and then go buy yourself something, even if it's just a new tube of lipstick. Practice smiling. Then practice it more. Before long, it will come naturally. Smile right now and tell me you don't feel just a tiny bit better.
And then remind yourself that you're pretty damn amazing. And someday, if someone is lucky enough, they'll get to realize it, too.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Letting Go.
For the last several months, I've been struggling with an issue that at times can shake my already-tenuous grasp on confidence. Though I'm nowhere near as confident as, say, my son is, I really WANT to be, and I've come a long way in the last however many years it's been since I was 13 (fine, it's been 25 years).
That's pretty much when I first became aware of my appearance in a self-conscious way. And I was lucky - girls now, in my opinion, are under a lot more pressure to look good at a much younger age, since the birth of social media and the selfie. At least when I was a teenager, we really only had to compare ourselves to the girls in our class and the girls in magazines. Now, there are comparisons everywhere. The pictures I see on my news feed every day make me think, damn, I wouldn't stand a chance against these girls. I wish I had my eighth grade picture just to prove what I looked like versus what these girls look like. It's crazy.
But I digress. The point is, I'm like many people out there - I want to be a good person, but I get caught up in my own petty obsessions. I think too much about trivial things that, almost 100 percent of the time, don't happen. I have conversations in my mind that will never take place, about life events that also will never take place. I catch myself doing these things, and I recognize myself to be the compilation of equal parts narcissism and self-doubt that I really am.
In the issue I've been dealing with, every move I make online has been obsessively followed. Pictures I take and statuses I post have been raked over with a fine-tooth comb. I don't care about that - if I didn't want things out there, I obviously wouldn't post them. Still, at times it's a bit unnerving. And, to be honest, a little creepy.
But, in the end, there is nothing I can do about it. And that is why this list has been so beneficial to me. For that reason, I'm going to share it with you, because I like you and want you to be happy.
Here is the link to the article, or just read it here. Either way, I did NOT write it.
http://www.purposefairy.com/3308/15-things-you-should-give-up-in-order-to-be-happy/
1. Give up your need to always be right
There are so many of us who can’t stand the idea of being wrong – wanting to always be right – even at the risk of ending great relationships or causing a great deal of stress and pain, for us and for others. It’s just not worth it. Whenever you feel the ‘urgent’ need to jump into a fight over who is right and who is wrong, ask yourself this question: “Would I rather be right, or would I rather be kind?” Wayne Dyer. What difference will that make? Is your ego really that big?
2. Give up your need for control
Be willing to give up your need to always control everything that happens to you and around you – situations, events, people, etc. Whether they are loved ones, coworkers, or just strangers you meet on the street – just allow them to be. Allow everything and everyone to be just as they are and you will see how much better will that make you feel.
“By letting it go it all gets done. The world is won by those who let it go. But when you try and try. The world is beyond winning.” Lao Tzu
3. Give up on blame
Give up on your need to blame others for what you have or don’t have, for what you feel or don’t feel. Stop giving your powers away and start taking responsibility for your life.
4. Give up your self-defeating self-talk
Oh my. How many people are hurting themselves because of their negative, polluted and repetitive self-defeating mindset? Don’t believe everything that your mind is telling you – especially if it’s negative and self-defeating. You are better than that.
“The mind is a superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive.” Eckhart Tolle
5. Give up your limiting beliefs
about what you can or cannot do, about what is possible or impossible. From now on, you are no longer going to allow your limiting beliefs to keep you stuck in the wrong place. Spread your wings and fly!
“A belief is not an idea held by the mind, it is an idea that holds the mind” Elly Roselle
6. Give up complaining
Give up your constant need to complain about those many, many, maaany things – people, situations, events that make you unhappy, sad and depressed. Nobody can make you unhappy, no situation can make you sad or miserable unless you allow it to. It’s not the situation that triggers those feelings in you, but how you choose to look at it. Never underestimate the power of positive thinking.
7. Give up the luxury of criticism
Give up your need to criticize things, events or people that are different than you. We are all different, yet we are all the same. We all want to be happy, we all want to love and be loved and we all want to be understood. We all want something, and something is wished by us all.
8. Give up your need to impress others
Stop trying so hard to be something that you’re not just to make others like you. It doesn’t work this way. The moment you stop trying so hard to be something that you’re not, the moment you take off all your masks, the moment you accept and embrace the real you, you will find people will be drawn to you, effortlessly.
9. Give up your resistance to change
Change is good. Change will help you move from A to B. Change will help you make improvements in your life and also the lives of those around you. Follow your bliss, embrace change – don’t resist it.
“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls” Joseph Campbell
10. Give up labels
Stop labeling those things, people or events that you don’t understand as being weird or different and try opening your mind, little by little. Minds only work when open.
“The highest form of ignorance is when you reject something you don’t know anything about.” Wayne Dyer
11. Give up on your fears
Fear is just an illusion, it doesn’t exist – you created it. It’s all in your mind. Correct the inside and the outside will fall into place.
“The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.” Franklin D. Roosevelt
12. Give up your excuses
Send them packing and tell them they’re fired. You no longer need them. A lot of times we limit ourselves because of the many excuses we use. Instead of growing and working on improving ourselves and our lives, we get stuck, lying to ourselves, using all kind of excuses – excuses that 99.9% of the time are not even real.
13. Give up the past
I know, I know. It’s hard. Especially when the past looks so much better than the present and the future looks so frightening, but you have to take into consideration the fact that the present moment is all you have and all you will ever have. The past you are now longing for – the past that you are now dreaming about – was ignored by you when it was present. Stop deluding yourself. Be present in everything you do and enjoy life. After all, life is a journey, not a destination. Have a clear vision for the future, prepare yourself, but always be present in the now.
14. Give up attachment
This is a concept that, for most of us is so hard to grasp and I have to tell you that it was for me too, (it still is) but it’s not something impossible. You get better and better at with time and practice. The moment you detach yourself from all things, (and that doesn’t mean you give up your love for them – because love and attachment have nothing to do with one another, attachment comes from a place of fear, while love… well, real love is pure, kind, and self less, where there is love there can’t be fear, and because of that, attachment and love cannot coexist) you become so peaceful, so tolerant, so kind, and so serene. You will get to a place where you will be able to understand all things without even trying. A state beyond words.
15. Give up living your life to other people’s expectations
Way too many people are living a life that is not theirs to live. They live their lives according to what others think is best for them, they live their lives according to what their parents think is best for them, to what their friends, their enemies and their teachers, their government and the media think is best for them. They ignore their inner voice, that inner calling. They are so busy with pleasing everybody, with living up to other people’s expectations, that they lose control over their lives. They forget what makes them happy, what they want, what they need….and eventually they forget about themselves. You have one life – this one right now – you must live it, own it, and especially don’t let other people’s opinions distract you from your path.
I have this list hanging up in my office, and I try to read it every day. Does it work?
Are you kidding me? Every day is still a brand new challenge. But then I read it again.
Eventually, I hope that these little rules will stick.
Here is my other reference, more of a pocket one, if you will. Here it is:
So, check them out. See if they can help you in your life. And if they can't, if you're already chill and Zen and at one with the present, then please contact me. I have a lot to learn from you.
The rest of you, welcome. Let's figure this out together.
That's pretty much when I first became aware of my appearance in a self-conscious way. And I was lucky - girls now, in my opinion, are under a lot more pressure to look good at a much younger age, since the birth of social media and the selfie. At least when I was a teenager, we really only had to compare ourselves to the girls in our class and the girls in magazines. Now, there are comparisons everywhere. The pictures I see on my news feed every day make me think, damn, I wouldn't stand a chance against these girls. I wish I had my eighth grade picture just to prove what I looked like versus what these girls look like. It's crazy.
But I digress. The point is, I'm like many people out there - I want to be a good person, but I get caught up in my own petty obsessions. I think too much about trivial things that, almost 100 percent of the time, don't happen. I have conversations in my mind that will never take place, about life events that also will never take place. I catch myself doing these things, and I recognize myself to be the compilation of equal parts narcissism and self-doubt that I really am.
In the issue I've been dealing with, every move I make online has been obsessively followed. Pictures I take and statuses I post have been raked over with a fine-tooth comb. I don't care about that - if I didn't want things out there, I obviously wouldn't post them. Still, at times it's a bit unnerving. And, to be honest, a little creepy.
But, in the end, there is nothing I can do about it. And that is why this list has been so beneficial to me. For that reason, I'm going to share it with you, because I like you and want you to be happy.
Here is the link to the article, or just read it here. Either way, I did NOT write it.
http://www.purposefairy.com/3308/15-things-you-should-give-up-in-order-to-be-happy/
1. Give up your need to always be right
There are so many of us who can’t stand the idea of being wrong – wanting to always be right – even at the risk of ending great relationships or causing a great deal of stress and pain, for us and for others. It’s just not worth it. Whenever you feel the ‘urgent’ need to jump into a fight over who is right and who is wrong, ask yourself this question: “Would I rather be right, or would I rather be kind?” Wayne Dyer. What difference will that make? Is your ego really that big?
2. Give up your need for control
Be willing to give up your need to always control everything that happens to you and around you – situations, events, people, etc. Whether they are loved ones, coworkers, or just strangers you meet on the street – just allow them to be. Allow everything and everyone to be just as they are and you will see how much better will that make you feel.
“By letting it go it all gets done. The world is won by those who let it go. But when you try and try. The world is beyond winning.” Lao Tzu
3. Give up on blame
Give up on your need to blame others for what you have or don’t have, for what you feel or don’t feel. Stop giving your powers away and start taking responsibility for your life.
4. Give up your self-defeating self-talk
Oh my. How many people are hurting themselves because of their negative, polluted and repetitive self-defeating mindset? Don’t believe everything that your mind is telling you – especially if it’s negative and self-defeating. You are better than that.
“The mind is a superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive.” Eckhart Tolle
5. Give up your limiting beliefs
about what you can or cannot do, about what is possible or impossible. From now on, you are no longer going to allow your limiting beliefs to keep you stuck in the wrong place. Spread your wings and fly!
“A belief is not an idea held by the mind, it is an idea that holds the mind” Elly Roselle
6. Give up complaining
Give up your constant need to complain about those many, many, maaany things – people, situations, events that make you unhappy, sad and depressed. Nobody can make you unhappy, no situation can make you sad or miserable unless you allow it to. It’s not the situation that triggers those feelings in you, but how you choose to look at it. Never underestimate the power of positive thinking.
7. Give up the luxury of criticism
Give up your need to criticize things, events or people that are different than you. We are all different, yet we are all the same. We all want to be happy, we all want to love and be loved and we all want to be understood. We all want something, and something is wished by us all.
8. Give up your need to impress others
Stop trying so hard to be something that you’re not just to make others like you. It doesn’t work this way. The moment you stop trying so hard to be something that you’re not, the moment you take off all your masks, the moment you accept and embrace the real you, you will find people will be drawn to you, effortlessly.
9. Give up your resistance to change
Change is good. Change will help you move from A to B. Change will help you make improvements in your life and also the lives of those around you. Follow your bliss, embrace change – don’t resist it.
“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls” Joseph Campbell
10. Give up labels
Stop labeling those things, people or events that you don’t understand as being weird or different and try opening your mind, little by little. Minds only work when open.
“The highest form of ignorance is when you reject something you don’t know anything about.” Wayne Dyer
11. Give up on your fears
Fear is just an illusion, it doesn’t exist – you created it. It’s all in your mind. Correct the inside and the outside will fall into place.
“The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.” Franklin D. Roosevelt
12. Give up your excuses
Send them packing and tell them they’re fired. You no longer need them. A lot of times we limit ourselves because of the many excuses we use. Instead of growing and working on improving ourselves and our lives, we get stuck, lying to ourselves, using all kind of excuses – excuses that 99.9% of the time are not even real.
13. Give up the past
I know, I know. It’s hard. Especially when the past looks so much better than the present and the future looks so frightening, but you have to take into consideration the fact that the present moment is all you have and all you will ever have. The past you are now longing for – the past that you are now dreaming about – was ignored by you when it was present. Stop deluding yourself. Be present in everything you do and enjoy life. After all, life is a journey, not a destination. Have a clear vision for the future, prepare yourself, but always be present in the now.
14. Give up attachment
This is a concept that, for most of us is so hard to grasp and I have to tell you that it was for me too, (it still is) but it’s not something impossible. You get better and better at with time and practice. The moment you detach yourself from all things, (and that doesn’t mean you give up your love for them – because love and attachment have nothing to do with one another, attachment comes from a place of fear, while love… well, real love is pure, kind, and self less, where there is love there can’t be fear, and because of that, attachment and love cannot coexist) you become so peaceful, so tolerant, so kind, and so serene. You will get to a place where you will be able to understand all things without even trying. A state beyond words.
15. Give up living your life to other people’s expectations
Way too many people are living a life that is not theirs to live. They live their lives according to what others think is best for them, they live their lives according to what their parents think is best for them, to what their friends, their enemies and their teachers, their government and the media think is best for them. They ignore their inner voice, that inner calling. They are so busy with pleasing everybody, with living up to other people’s expectations, that they lose control over their lives. They forget what makes them happy, what they want, what they need….and eventually they forget about themselves. You have one life – this one right now – you must live it, own it, and especially don’t let other people’s opinions distract you from your path.
I have this list hanging up in my office, and I try to read it every day. Does it work?
Are you kidding me? Every day is still a brand new challenge. But then I read it again.
Eventually, I hope that these little rules will stick.
Here is my other reference, more of a pocket one, if you will. Here it is:
So, check them out. See if they can help you in your life. And if they can't, if you're already chill and Zen and at one with the present, then please contact me. I have a lot to learn from you.
The rest of you, welcome. Let's figure this out together.
Monday, August 19, 2013
My Last Fall...
Today is the last first fall semester day as a student.
In a way, it's unbelievable that it's already here. In another way, when I do the math, I realize this is my sixth semester as a PSU student, and so, well, YEAH, it should be my last fall semester. I didn't intend for this to be a lifetime thing.
But I LOVE the classroom. I love learning. I didn't always, which is why I'm just now finishing my graduate degree, at age 38. I appreciate it now, however. Part of it is that I'm paying for this education myself, out of pocket, as I go. Part of it is that I just...CARE now, in a way that I certainly didn't before.
Regardless, here I am. And it's a little bittersweet. Everything today looks a little rosier, a little more polished, and pretty, and magical, than it normally would. This time next year, I won't be making the 40-mile commute to campus. Though I would love to return as a professor, I haven't made the decision to pursue my doctorate. My husband and I have a different plan, one in which I travel with him so that we can actually spend time together as a married couple. Also, the light of my life, my son, will be a senior in high school next year, and I don't want to start a new project and miss the last nine months of the best 18 years of my life.
So, this is it. And it's enough. I made goals for myself when I was sick, and this degree is the final goal. Not, like, an I-can-die-now final goal, but the final goal that would require real work on my part.
It's a little sad that this is the last year working in Career Services.
It's a little sad that this is the last class I will take taught by Dr. Arbuckle, who is an amazing person.
It's a little sad that this is the last semester I will take a class in 309 Grubbs Hall, the staple classroom of my college career here.
Life goes on, and all things must end, and I've been through enough phases of life to know that I'll keep truckin' without pause, because I tend to leave things behind a little too easily. But in this time leading up to that end, I reserve the right to be stupidly nostalgic.
Also, have you read my article? Because you should. And then read other articles on the site, because it's great, and there is something there that will resonate with you. I guarantee it.
http://tinybuddha.com/blog/the-time-to-act-is-now-get-out-there-and-seize-the-moment/
And here's a nice picture for you. Of food, because it's me.
In a way, it's unbelievable that it's already here. In another way, when I do the math, I realize this is my sixth semester as a PSU student, and so, well, YEAH, it should be my last fall semester. I didn't intend for this to be a lifetime thing.
But I LOVE the classroom. I love learning. I didn't always, which is why I'm just now finishing my graduate degree, at age 38. I appreciate it now, however. Part of it is that I'm paying for this education myself, out of pocket, as I go. Part of it is that I just...CARE now, in a way that I certainly didn't before.
Regardless, here I am. And it's a little bittersweet. Everything today looks a little rosier, a little more polished, and pretty, and magical, than it normally would. This time next year, I won't be making the 40-mile commute to campus. Though I would love to return as a professor, I haven't made the decision to pursue my doctorate. My husband and I have a different plan, one in which I travel with him so that we can actually spend time together as a married couple. Also, the light of my life, my son, will be a senior in high school next year, and I don't want to start a new project and miss the last nine months of the best 18 years of my life.
So, this is it. And it's enough. I made goals for myself when I was sick, and this degree is the final goal. Not, like, an I-can-die-now final goal, but the final goal that would require real work on my part.
It's a little sad that this is the last year working in Career Services.
It's a little sad that this is the last class I will take taught by Dr. Arbuckle, who is an amazing person.
It's a little sad that this is the last semester I will take a class in 309 Grubbs Hall, the staple classroom of my college career here.
Life goes on, and all things must end, and I've been through enough phases of life to know that I'll keep truckin' without pause, because I tend to leave things behind a little too easily. But in this time leading up to that end, I reserve the right to be stupidly nostalgic.
Also, have you read my article? Because you should. And then read other articles on the site, because it's great, and there is something there that will resonate with you. I guarantee it.
http://tinybuddha.com/blog/the-time-to-act-is-now-get-out-there-and-seize-the-moment/
And here's a nice picture for you. Of food, because it's me.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
20 YEARS? Seriously?
This weekend is my 20-year class reunion.
I mean, what?
In a way, it seems like it has been every bit of 20 years since I was a student at Nevada High School. My son is about to start his junior year there, for heaven's sake, so mathematically it definitely makes sense.
In other ways, I'm kind of stunned. It doesn't feel like I should be one of the old ones. I still feel relevant, despite repeated assurances from my kids that I'm not. I feel like I'm just now becoming comfortable in my own skin. I wish I'd been that way 20 years ago, but I wasn't, and that's the end of that.
I see my kid now, and he is everything I would have wished for high-school Jen. Except the being a guy part. I was cool with being a girl. But he has this confidence that I never had. He has this natural ability to talk to people, and he is, like, so well-rounded. He understands math and chemistry and stuff.
But I digress. The original point was, I'm 20 years older, and this weekend, a handful of classmates and myself will converge at an agreed-upon meeting place to stare at each other surreptitiously and drink.
Should be interesting. And it's made me come up with a little compilation of my life now that I would love to go back and tell 17-year-old me, just to freak her out.
The list would go something like this.
1) Remember that incredibly hot guy that you almost literally drooled over every single day of your senior year? The guy whose butt you stared at longingly every chance you got? The guy who, when he looked at you, rendered you incapable of speech, thereby preventing you from ever having a conversation with him in high school? Yeah. You're married to him now.
2) You DID get through the math requirement and get your bachelor's degree. And you didn't even have to cheat or bribe anyone.
3) Sit down, honey. Take a deep breath. This is going to be a tough one. You never got out of Nevada.
4) Oh, also you had cancer. You lost your hair, and you have one HELL of a freaky situation going on with that boob, but you got to keep it!
5) You know how you didn't ever really like kids? You had one. And then you got two bonus kids. All boys, thank God, so there's that.
6) You don't lift weights anymore. I know. I know. But there's this great thing called yoga...
7) Since I just hit you with that, I'm going to gut punch you again real quick. You don't play tennis anymore.
8) Ms. Holman came back to Nevada and was the first female principal of NHS, which was AWESOME! Sadly, she just retired and moved to Eureka Springs, but still, that was cool.
9) The one thing you can't live without is a little portable phone that also functions as a computer and a Walkman.
10) You still work at the movie theater. But you actually like it now. And you get to work at a college too, in order to get your intellect on, so it's a good balance.
and FINALLY:
11) You're going to be a (step)grandmother, probably by the end of this sentence. I know. Weird.
I can't imagine Future Me coming to tell Young Me any of that 20 years ago. It's good that I didn't, though. If Future Me told Young Me I would still live in Nevada, Young Me would have done anything to make that not happen, which would have wiped out many of the other things on the list, namely the most important one, which is my current little family.
All in all, it's a kick-ass life, and I feel unbelievably blessed to be living it. I hope my classmates have had their own amazing 20 years of stories.
Oh, and you better believe there will be pictures this weekend. Brace yourselves.
I mean, what?
In a way, it seems like it has been every bit of 20 years since I was a student at Nevada High School. My son is about to start his junior year there, for heaven's sake, so mathematically it definitely makes sense.
In other ways, I'm kind of stunned. It doesn't feel like I should be one of the old ones. I still feel relevant, despite repeated assurances from my kids that I'm not. I feel like I'm just now becoming comfortable in my own skin. I wish I'd been that way 20 years ago, but I wasn't, and that's the end of that.
I see my kid now, and he is everything I would have wished for high-school Jen. Except the being a guy part. I was cool with being a girl. But he has this confidence that I never had. He has this natural ability to talk to people, and he is, like, so well-rounded. He understands math and chemistry and stuff.
But I digress. The original point was, I'm 20 years older, and this weekend, a handful of classmates and myself will converge at an agreed-upon meeting place to stare at each other surreptitiously and drink.
Should be interesting. And it's made me come up with a little compilation of my life now that I would love to go back and tell 17-year-old me, just to freak her out.
The list would go something like this.
1) Remember that incredibly hot guy that you almost literally drooled over every single day of your senior year? The guy whose butt you stared at longingly every chance you got? The guy who, when he looked at you, rendered you incapable of speech, thereby preventing you from ever having a conversation with him in high school? Yeah. You're married to him now.
2) You DID get through the math requirement and get your bachelor's degree. And you didn't even have to cheat or bribe anyone.
3) Sit down, honey. Take a deep breath. This is going to be a tough one. You never got out of Nevada.
4) Oh, also you had cancer. You lost your hair, and you have one HELL of a freaky situation going on with that boob, but you got to keep it!
5) You know how you didn't ever really like kids? You had one. And then you got two bonus kids. All boys, thank God, so there's that.
6) You don't lift weights anymore. I know. I know. But there's this great thing called yoga...
7) Since I just hit you with that, I'm going to gut punch you again real quick. You don't play tennis anymore.
8) Ms. Holman came back to Nevada and was the first female principal of NHS, which was AWESOME! Sadly, she just retired and moved to Eureka Springs, but still, that was cool.
9) The one thing you can't live without is a little portable phone that also functions as a computer and a Walkman.
10) You still work at the movie theater. But you actually like it now. And you get to work at a college too, in order to get your intellect on, so it's a good balance.
and FINALLY:
11) You're going to be a (step)grandmother, probably by the end of this sentence. I know. Weird.
I can't imagine Future Me coming to tell Young Me any of that 20 years ago. It's good that I didn't, though. If Future Me told Young Me I would still live in Nevada, Young Me would have done anything to make that not happen, which would have wiped out many of the other things on the list, namely the most important one, which is my current little family.
All in all, it's a kick-ass life, and I feel unbelievably blessed to be living it. I hope my classmates have had their own amazing 20 years of stories.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Happy Mother's Day!
Friday night, I got home from work at about eleven. It had been a long day and a long week, and I was tired and ready to crash. We were leaving super early Saturday morning to go visit my sister, and more than anything I just wanted to fall face down on my bed and not move for eight hours.
The first thing I saw when I walked into the kitchen were the dirty dishes. That was normal, and the dishwasher was empty, so I could handle it. As I loaded them, my eyes drifted to the kitchen table, which was covered in newspapers, what looked to be a finger painting, a roll of tape, scissors, a hole punch, a roll of yarn, and markers.
I knew that the perp was my son, because he gets creative often, but his enthusiasm doesn't extend into cleanup. He was asleep in his room, and I didn't want to wake him up to yell at him. I also didn't want to leave the mess for the morning, because I'm anal like that and I like to go to sleep in a clean house.
So I cleaned it all up. It didn't take long, really, and when I finished I surveyed the clean kitchen with satisfaction and turned to go down the hallway.
I saw the boys' bathroom light was on, so I reached in to turn it off and got my next surprise.
Hunter had cut his hair. To his credit, he had cleaned quite a bit of it up, but there was still a fine misting of hair on the counter, in the sink, and all over the rug and tile on the floor.
Another huge sigh as I went to get the broom. Again, the thought of leaving that for the morning just didn't sit well with me.
With the bathroom sparkling, and me grumbling, I went into my bedroom and flipped on the light.
That's when I saw it. A big envelope consisting of several sheets of computer paper taped together. Yarn was threaded through holes punched in each side and "Mom" was printed on the front in red marker.
I opened the envelope to find a seven-page handwritten letter that read as follows:
Mother,
I want to start off this letter by saying that you're dumb and I don't love you. I'm only writing this letter out of sympathy. Everybody knows that Mother's Day is a made-up holiday that was only created by some chick who thought the world owed her something just because she pro-created like she was supposed to [author's note: not true, but bless his heart]. However, whilst I was doing my usual business and ignoring you so I could watch cat videos, an advertisement played before one of them. I had my hands full because I was eating the dinner that you cooked for me (and I probably didn't thank you for, but rather most likely made a snide remark about how bad it was). So I didn't skip the advertisement after 5 seconds like I usually would have. The ad was made by Google, so I wasn't too upset. They typically have good advertisements. If it was the new ad for the upcoming, seven-part series about North America, I would have thrown my plate across the room and stopped it, because the song that plays during that ad fills me with a burning rage that is only comparable to the rage I feel when I see your face. I mean seriously, the budget for that documentary is probably massive, and it sounds like the guy who was in charge of picking the music had a 5 dollar budget, and they told him he had to right (sic) the music himself and play every instrument at once, while singing. Oh, and he was deaf. From birth. It's so bad. Anyway, back to this Google ad. It started out with a nice acoustic guitar, and I could tell it was about to get emotional. The ad consisted of a compilation of videos of pretty awesome moms. There were kids that were talking about how thankful they were for their mothers. How strange, I thought. I was relatively unaffected because I was trying to keep down the dinner you made. But the last clip got me. It was a young woman in an Army uniform, which I presumed meant that she had just come back from a vacation, or something. Anyway, she was heading towards a very young boy, presumably a few years of age or less. The boy looked at the woman for a moment, and then outstretched his arms and cried, "Mommy!" Everyone in the area laughed and cried, and fun was had by all. My heart strings were played as if Jimi Hendrix were playing a harp, but like his expertise of the guitar was transformed into harp-expertise, or "harpertise" as we call it in the business. It was then that I realized, there are a lot of great Moms out there. Millions. Moms that would do anything for their child because they love them so much. But then there is you.
I would not put you in a category with these moms. No no, there is something different about you. You don't treat me like your son. You treat me like a fellow human being and individual consciousness that just so happens to be like yours. You take care of me because you want to help me progress through life, not because you feel responsible. Not many Moms are like you, but the few who are, know how to raise a child. There aren't any Moms on this planet that I would rather call my own.
I got pretty darn lucky, and I know it. I really do. I know I'm not great at showing it all the time, but surely that's just an age thing. But I really do know how lucky I am, and I am very thankful every day. I love you so much, Mom. Oh yeah, and you owe me tree-fiddy.
-Loch Ness Monster [author's note: a joke from AskReddit]
So when I read that letter, all the irritation melted away and I saw the night for what it really was: an opportunity for me to be grateful. Yes, I have this child who makes messes and doesn't pick them up and who drives me crazy, but how lucky am I to have him around for all of the great times? A little mess here and there was a small price to pay for all the joy he has brought into my life.
Then, today on the way home, I stopped to get gas and Zane ran into the gas station. I started to get worried after he was in there for awhile, and wondered if he had picked something out I needed to go pay for. Just as I was about to give up and go check on him, he ran back out holding some candy.
"What'd you get?" I asked, thinking he had bought himself snacks.
He flipped a package of Starbursts at me nonchalantly.
"Happy Mother's Day."
I thought I was going to cry.
I really am the luckiest mom ever.
The first thing I saw when I walked into the kitchen were the dirty dishes. That was normal, and the dishwasher was empty, so I could handle it. As I loaded them, my eyes drifted to the kitchen table, which was covered in newspapers, what looked to be a finger painting, a roll of tape, scissors, a hole punch, a roll of yarn, and markers.
I knew that the perp was my son, because he gets creative often, but his enthusiasm doesn't extend into cleanup. He was asleep in his room, and I didn't want to wake him up to yell at him. I also didn't want to leave the mess for the morning, because I'm anal like that and I like to go to sleep in a clean house.
So I cleaned it all up. It didn't take long, really, and when I finished I surveyed the clean kitchen with satisfaction and turned to go down the hallway.
I saw the boys' bathroom light was on, so I reached in to turn it off and got my next surprise.
Hunter had cut his hair. To his credit, he had cleaned quite a bit of it up, but there was still a fine misting of hair on the counter, in the sink, and all over the rug and tile on the floor.
Another huge sigh as I went to get the broom. Again, the thought of leaving that for the morning just didn't sit well with me.
With the bathroom sparkling, and me grumbling, I went into my bedroom and flipped on the light.
That's when I saw it. A big envelope consisting of several sheets of computer paper taped together. Yarn was threaded through holes punched in each side and "Mom" was printed on the front in red marker.
I opened the envelope to find a seven-page handwritten letter that read as follows:
Mother,
I want to start off this letter by saying that you're dumb and I don't love you. I'm only writing this letter out of sympathy. Everybody knows that Mother's Day is a made-up holiday that was only created by some chick who thought the world owed her something just because she pro-created like she was supposed to [author's note: not true, but bless his heart]. However, whilst I was doing my usual business and ignoring you so I could watch cat videos, an advertisement played before one of them. I had my hands full because I was eating the dinner that you cooked for me (and I probably didn't thank you for, but rather most likely made a snide remark about how bad it was). So I didn't skip the advertisement after 5 seconds like I usually would have. The ad was made by Google, so I wasn't too upset. They typically have good advertisements. If it was the new ad for the upcoming, seven-part series about North America, I would have thrown my plate across the room and stopped it, because the song that plays during that ad fills me with a burning rage that is only comparable to the rage I feel when I see your face. I mean seriously, the budget for that documentary is probably massive, and it sounds like the guy who was in charge of picking the music had a 5 dollar budget, and they told him he had to right (sic) the music himself and play every instrument at once, while singing. Oh, and he was deaf. From birth. It's so bad. Anyway, back to this Google ad. It started out with a nice acoustic guitar, and I could tell it was about to get emotional. The ad consisted of a compilation of videos of pretty awesome moms. There were kids that were talking about how thankful they were for their mothers. How strange, I thought. I was relatively unaffected because I was trying to keep down the dinner you made. But the last clip got me. It was a young woman in an Army uniform, which I presumed meant that she had just come back from a vacation, or something. Anyway, she was heading towards a very young boy, presumably a few years of age or less. The boy looked at the woman for a moment, and then outstretched his arms and cried, "Mommy!" Everyone in the area laughed and cried, and fun was had by all. My heart strings were played as if Jimi Hendrix were playing a harp, but like his expertise of the guitar was transformed into harp-expertise, or "harpertise" as we call it in the business. It was then that I realized, there are a lot of great Moms out there. Millions. Moms that would do anything for their child because they love them so much. But then there is you.
I would not put you in a category with these moms. No no, there is something different about you. You don't treat me like your son. You treat me like a fellow human being and individual consciousness that just so happens to be like yours. You take care of me because you want to help me progress through life, not because you feel responsible. Not many Moms are like you, but the few who are, know how to raise a child. There aren't any Moms on this planet that I would rather call my own.
I got pretty darn lucky, and I know it. I really do. I know I'm not great at showing it all the time, but surely that's just an age thing. But I really do know how lucky I am, and I am very thankful every day. I love you so much, Mom. Oh yeah, and you owe me tree-fiddy.
-Loch Ness Monster [author's note: a joke from AskReddit]
So when I read that letter, all the irritation melted away and I saw the night for what it really was: an opportunity for me to be grateful. Yes, I have this child who makes messes and doesn't pick them up and who drives me crazy, but how lucky am I to have him around for all of the great times? A little mess here and there was a small price to pay for all the joy he has brought into my life.
Then, today on the way home, I stopped to get gas and Zane ran into the gas station. I started to get worried after he was in there for awhile, and wondered if he had picked something out I needed to go pay for. Just as I was about to give up and go check on him, he ran back out holding some candy.
"What'd you get?" I asked, thinking he had bought himself snacks.
He flipped a package of Starbursts at me nonchalantly.
"Happy Mother's Day."
I thought I was going to cry.
I really am the luckiest mom ever.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Maybe Don't Yoga in the Kitchen.
I used to do a lot of yoga. By "a lot" I mean I did "Power Yoga - With Adrienne Reed", a series originally found on PBS that I DVR'd religiously in 2006-2008. Each session was roughly 24 minutes long, but I convinced myself, because, let's face it, if you want to believe something, it's pretty easy to believe it, that I was a true yoga girl.
When I got divorced, all of those DVR'd episodes disappeared, and so did my will to yoga. For the next five years, I halfheartedly tried to stretch about twice a year, but pretty much my desire to exercise, a desire which consumed me from my teenage years to my early thirties, was gone. It was weird.
I spent those five years trying to not gain weight and discovering flavored vodka, in that order. Not like, the whole five years, but when I think back on them, those are the two things that jump out at me.
I blame my sister for what happened next. Shannon got all up in Insanity, and eating nothing but cheese and nuts or something, and as her health reached super-human levels, she began to lightly pester me about getting in shape.
I slapped her away for a few months, but in January, to appease her, I started back with Adrienne. Four days a week at first, then five, then, based on the gentle admonitions of my SparkPeople app, I bumped it to 180 minutes a week.
I'm lazy about location. I'll yoga pretty much in any open space as long as nobody is watching.
I'm also lazy about the actual workout, and that leads us to this week.
I have a large window in my dining room (which is, let's be honest, really just an extension of the kitchen), and the view is great. I decided to do some yoga in front of it, and here is how the following 24 minutes went down.
Hey, it feels easier to stretch in the kitchen. Weird.
I need to open the curtains. I'll just do that real quick while Adrienne announces the next pose.
I hate these curtains.
I mean, they're not bad. But come on.
I wonder if those lace valances Mom gave me would work here.
The sun feels so good. I'm just going to take the curtain rod off and then after yoga I'll try the valances.
DEAR GOD. I have cellulite on my quads? It was one thing to have it on the backs of my legs, at least I couldn't see it then. DAMN YOU SUN. I couldn't see it when the curtains were down.
I'm drinking water and exercising and I still have cellulite? I may as well hustle and get those valances now while she announces the next pose. It's not like I can exercise away this cellulite. That shit's genetic.
I'll go ahead and take the curtains off the other window in here too. Then everything will match.
WHY DOES EVERY CURTAIN ROD IN EVERY HOUSE I LIVE IN HAVE TO HAVE THAT JACKED-UP JAGGED EDGE!?
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
I WILL jerk those valances across this jacked-up metal edge without tearing them. I WILL.
Screw it, I'll rip the lace. I hate these curtain rods and I hate this lace! I HATE IT!
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
Wow that sucked. But it's on! DON'T SLIDE OFF THE OTHER SIDE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP SLIDING OFF JUST LET ME PUT THIS ROD BACK ON THE WINDOW AND THEN I WILL NEVER BOTHER YOU AGAIN. I'M SERIOUS, I WILL MOVE OUT OF THIS HOUSE HAVING NEVER TOUCHED YOU AGAIN. PLEASE JUST DON'T SLIDE OFF...thank you.
I'll just finish yoga and then do the other window.
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
I can't wait, I'll just do it now. I really just need my legs for this pose, anyway.
Wow. This curtain rod doesn't have a jagged edge?! I should write that down in a journal or something, commemorate that somewhere. Let me just pop this one back on the window while she's announcing the next pose...
DAMN, THAT LOOKS GOOD! The kitchen looks so much bigger! Wow. Take a picture and send it to Mom and thank her.
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
Damn it, this carpet needs vacuumed. I can't believe how bad this looks. The light really isn't doing my lack of vacuuming any favors.
*vacuum*
*vacuum*
Corpse pose already!? Yoga goes so much faster in here! I love it!
When I got divorced, all of those DVR'd episodes disappeared, and so did my will to yoga. For the next five years, I halfheartedly tried to stretch about twice a year, but pretty much my desire to exercise, a desire which consumed me from my teenage years to my early thirties, was gone. It was weird.
I spent those five years trying to not gain weight and discovering flavored vodka, in that order. Not like, the whole five years, but when I think back on them, those are the two things that jump out at me.
I blame my sister for what happened next. Shannon got all up in Insanity, and eating nothing but cheese and nuts or something, and as her health reached super-human levels, she began to lightly pester me about getting in shape.
I slapped her away for a few months, but in January, to appease her, I started back with Adrienne. Four days a week at first, then five, then, based on the gentle admonitions of my SparkPeople app, I bumped it to 180 minutes a week.
I'm lazy about location. I'll yoga pretty much in any open space as long as nobody is watching.
I'm also lazy about the actual workout, and that leads us to this week.
I have a large window in my dining room (which is, let's be honest, really just an extension of the kitchen), and the view is great. I decided to do some yoga in front of it, and here is how the following 24 minutes went down.
Hey, it feels easier to stretch in the kitchen. Weird.
I need to open the curtains. I'll just do that real quick while Adrienne announces the next pose.
I hate these curtains.
I mean, they're not bad. But come on.
I wonder if those lace valances Mom gave me would work here.
The sun feels so good. I'm just going to take the curtain rod off and then after yoga I'll try the valances.
DEAR GOD. I have cellulite on my quads? It was one thing to have it on the backs of my legs, at least I couldn't see it then. DAMN YOU SUN. I couldn't see it when the curtains were down.
I'm drinking water and exercising and I still have cellulite? I may as well hustle and get those valances now while she announces the next pose. It's not like I can exercise away this cellulite. That shit's genetic.
I'll go ahead and take the curtains off the other window in here too. Then everything will match.
WHY DOES EVERY CURTAIN ROD IN EVERY HOUSE I LIVE IN HAVE TO HAVE THAT JACKED-UP JAGGED EDGE!?
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
I WILL jerk those valances across this jacked-up metal edge without tearing them. I WILL.
Screw it, I'll rip the lace. I hate these curtain rods and I hate this lace! I HATE IT!
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
Wow that sucked. But it's on! DON'T SLIDE OFF THE OTHER SIDE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP SLIDING OFF JUST LET ME PUT THIS ROD BACK ON THE WINDOW AND THEN I WILL NEVER BOTHER YOU AGAIN. I'M SERIOUS, I WILL MOVE OUT OF THIS HOUSE HAVING NEVER TOUCHED YOU AGAIN. PLEASE JUST DON'T SLIDE OFF...thank you.
I'll just finish yoga and then do the other window.
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
I can't wait, I'll just do it now. I really just need my legs for this pose, anyway.
Wow. This curtain rod doesn't have a jagged edge?! I should write that down in a journal or something, commemorate that somewhere. Let me just pop this one back on the window while she's announcing the next pose...
DAMN, THAT LOOKS GOOD! The kitchen looks so much bigger! Wow. Take a picture and send it to Mom and thank her.
*quick yoga pose*
*quick yoga pose*
Damn it, this carpet needs vacuumed. I can't believe how bad this looks. The light really isn't doing my lack of vacuuming any favors.
*vacuum*
*vacuum*
Corpse pose already!? Yoga goes so much faster in here! I love it!
Friday, April 26, 2013
Gender Equality at Last: Thank You, Bic.
Let’s face it, girls: women and men are not treated equally. Whether you want to admit it or not, it’s true. Women tend to receive less pay, fewer opportunities, and just aren’t as strong as men. Men, on the other hand, dominate nearly every category, save for sandwich-making and cleaning the house. So it has been since the beginning of time, when cavemen outclubbed their female counterparts in the very first documented Battle of the Sexes.
Ladies, we can’t change any of that, and frankly, we shouldn’t be busying our minds with something so confusing. Rather, let us focus on the best thing to happen to women since Roe v. Wade: the Bic Cristal for Her Ball Pen. Not only did the geniuses at Bic (undoubtedly men) design this pen to be smaller so that it would “fit her hand”, they also made it a more “elegant design” with pretty, pastel colors just for her!
Now, women, you’re probably thinking, “I have a lot to do around the house! This dinner isn’t going to make itself, and I have to go to the store first. There’s simply no time for something so frivolous!” But consider this: you have to make that list with some type of writing utensil, right? With the Bic for Her, it will be easier to write, as the pen doesn’t weigh as much, and you won’t be unintentionally muscling up your hand by using a man’s pen. We aren’t equal, why should our pens be?
For those of you who aren’t already blessed with such a gift to the writing world, you’re probably thinking “There is NO way my husband is going to approve this on my allowance!” Don’t overtax those pretty little skulls. When he comes home from work, go ahead and be waiting with his pipe, newspaper, drink (make it a double tonight!), and slippers, as always, but this time, maybe give him a little shoulder massage too. Then, when he’s good and relaxed, slip it in casually. Maybe something like, “Honey, I’ve been working so hard on our family calendar and grocery lists that we’re out of ink again. May I buy a new pen?” He won’t even know what hit him! Remember: women can be cunning when they need to be, and as long as you’re using said cunning to do things that make his life easier, there won’t be any problems!
Women who have been lucky enough to own these pens claim that the sleek design makes everyday tasks, like horseback riding and swimming, even easier. It’s so discreet that nobody will even notice you’re doing work! You’re sure to get lots of compliments from other women on your new accessory, and anything that makes you a desirable object to others is sure to make your husband realize he was even smarter than he thought to have put a ring on it! Tee hee.
Now go ahead and pop those cookies in the oven so that the house smells fragrant and welcoming when he comes home, slip the kids a Benadryl so they’re docile when he walks through the door, slap a fresh coat of paint on your nails, and get ready for your brand new life!
Bic for Her: Putting Women Back in Their Place.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Robinson's Character the True Star of '42'
It is a good movie indeed that can turn all of your preconceived notions upside down and make you wonder if everything you ever believed was a lie.
In the movie 42, Brian Helgegard did just that, taking an era that people often refer to as “the good ol’ days” and bringing the camera lens right up to the ugliness that Jackie Robinson had to face as the first black man to play in major league baseball.
Misconceptions about the innocence of baseball were also dashed, as the movie focused on the motivation behind getting Robinson into the game: greed. The bottom dollar, at least as far back as the forties, was money, just as it is in today’s game.
Star Chadwick Boseman played Robinson as a man facing challenges every day that many of us couldn’t dream of with a stoic inner strength that played out beautifully on screen. The movie focuses on Robinson’s first two seasons after being called up, but largely glosses over his first season, with the Montreal Royals, before honing in on the meat of the story, Robinson’s first year with the Brooklyn Dodgers.
His life as a husband and as a father were passed by entirely, but this wasn’t a movie called “Jackie Robinson: a Husband and Father.” It is a movie about baseball, and boy, was it ever. The supporting cast was fantastic, with Nicole Beharie turning in an excellent performance as Jackie’s wife, Rachel, and Christopher Meloni, as suspended Dodgers manager Leo Durocher, bringing the character’s tough choices to life in a subtle but powerful turn.
Aside from Boseman, however, the true star of the show was the actor who played Branch Rickey. It was at least half an hour into the movie before I realized it was Harrison Ford. Ford made Rickey equal parts growling and sympathetic, with his motives behind bringing Robinson up very clearly in favor of the moneymaking aspect of the decision. Still, it was hard not to like the character, and any true story-style movie that makes me research the historical figure after watching it is a well-crafted flick, indeed.
Despite the unflinching look at racism that this story portrayed, the PG-13 rating is apt, and this would be a kid-appropriate movie. Film distributor Warner Brothers focused on the story in all the right ways, and the more people who can see their portrayal of Robinson’s struggles, the better. It’s important for as many people as possible to understand how far things have come, both in baseball and in our history as a country.
It’s true that baseball ain’t like it used to be, but maybe that’s a good thing.
In the movie 42, Brian Helgegard did just that, taking an era that people often refer to as “the good ol’ days” and bringing the camera lens right up to the ugliness that Jackie Robinson had to face as the first black man to play in major league baseball.
Misconceptions about the innocence of baseball were also dashed, as the movie focused on the motivation behind getting Robinson into the game: greed. The bottom dollar, at least as far back as the forties, was money, just as it is in today’s game.
Star Chadwick Boseman played Robinson as a man facing challenges every day that many of us couldn’t dream of with a stoic inner strength that played out beautifully on screen. The movie focuses on Robinson’s first two seasons after being called up, but largely glosses over his first season, with the Montreal Royals, before honing in on the meat of the story, Robinson’s first year with the Brooklyn Dodgers.
His life as a husband and as a father were passed by entirely, but this wasn’t a movie called “Jackie Robinson: a Husband and Father.” It is a movie about baseball, and boy, was it ever. The supporting cast was fantastic, with Nicole Beharie turning in an excellent performance as Jackie’s wife, Rachel, and Christopher Meloni, as suspended Dodgers manager Leo Durocher, bringing the character’s tough choices to life in a subtle but powerful turn.
Aside from Boseman, however, the true star of the show was the actor who played Branch Rickey. It was at least half an hour into the movie before I realized it was Harrison Ford. Ford made Rickey equal parts growling and sympathetic, with his motives behind bringing Robinson up very clearly in favor of the moneymaking aspect of the decision. Still, it was hard not to like the character, and any true story-style movie that makes me research the historical figure after watching it is a well-crafted flick, indeed.
Despite the unflinching look at racism that this story portrayed, the PG-13 rating is apt, and this would be a kid-appropriate movie. Film distributor Warner Brothers focused on the story in all the right ways, and the more people who can see their portrayal of Robinson’s struggles, the better. It’s important for as many people as possible to understand how far things have come, both in baseball and in our history as a country.
It’s true that baseball ain’t like it used to be, but maybe that’s a good thing.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Get Outta My Dreams and Get Into This Movie!
So, I had to do a short film review for my Editorial Writing class. I've seen a lot of good movies. Hell, I manage a movie theater, and my dad has owned it since 1982. Having so much material to pull from, it was clear to me what I had to do. Corey Haim may never be my third husband, but I can still pay homage to him every chance I get.
Without further ado, here it is.
Bogey and Bacall. Hepburn and Tracy. Astaire and Rogers. These are just a few of the legendary pairings who look like amateurs compared to the king of all acting duos: Haim and Feldman. If you haven’t had the absolute pleasure of watching “License to Drive”, their 1988 silver screen masterpiece, then stop what you’re doing, no matter what it is, and watch it, no matter how difficult it might seem.
What doesn’t this movie have? Protagonist who talks to the camera: check. A young Heather Graham: check. Scenes in the DMV: check. Twin sister character: check. Carol Kane: check. The list goes on and on. Are you looking for Corey Haim to grin adorably? You won’t be disappointed. Are you looking for Corey Feldman to be the slightly darker character of the two Coreys? It’s your lucky day! Are you hoping for never-ending hijinks to ensue? Oh, boy, are you going to be excited!
You might be wondering about the plot. Don’t. There is no need for a well-developed plot with this depth of cast. Richard Masur’s moustache did not get its own billing, but it should have. Likewise with the family car.
Director Greg Beeman was truly blessed with this manna from cinematic heaven. He had to do very little to ensure that teenage girls would flock to theaters to watch, and that’s exactly what he did. Close-ups of Heather Graham’s blue eyes and helpless expression (that expression may have been real) abounded. The script may as well have read as follows: For 88 minutes, let Carol Kane be frazzled and zany. Let Haim grin and let Feldman furrow his eyebrows. Throw in a conspiratorial father-son moment (or two)! Destroy stuff. Make the girl cute and show her legs off accordingly. Make the twin sister a bookish contrast to Haim’s Haim-like mirth. And for God’s sake, keep it PG-13 appropriate! Think of our demographic here!
If you were thinking that the soundtrack had no legendary title track, you would be wrong yet again, and at this point, maybe consider walking away from the cinematic guessing game. BILLY OCEAN. That’s right, “Get Out of My Dreams, Get Into My Car” provided not only a movie-appropriate title track, but come on! Have you HEARD the song?
All in all, this movie was a recipe for late-80’s success. It achieved exactly what I imagine it set out to do: draw in teenage girls, and accordingly, their teenage dates who would see anything if it meant potentially holding hands and maybe even making out with them while said girls pretended they were with (either) Corey instead.
Without further ado, here it is.
Bogey and Bacall. Hepburn and Tracy. Astaire and Rogers. These are just a few of the legendary pairings who look like amateurs compared to the king of all acting duos: Haim and Feldman. If you haven’t had the absolute pleasure of watching “License to Drive”, their 1988 silver screen masterpiece, then stop what you’re doing, no matter what it is, and watch it, no matter how difficult it might seem.
What doesn’t this movie have? Protagonist who talks to the camera: check. A young Heather Graham: check. Scenes in the DMV: check. Twin sister character: check. Carol Kane: check. The list goes on and on. Are you looking for Corey Haim to grin adorably? You won’t be disappointed. Are you looking for Corey Feldman to be the slightly darker character of the two Coreys? It’s your lucky day! Are you hoping for never-ending hijinks to ensue? Oh, boy, are you going to be excited!
You might be wondering about the plot. Don’t. There is no need for a well-developed plot with this depth of cast. Richard Masur’s moustache did not get its own billing, but it should have. Likewise with the family car.
Director Greg Beeman was truly blessed with this manna from cinematic heaven. He had to do very little to ensure that teenage girls would flock to theaters to watch, and that’s exactly what he did. Close-ups of Heather Graham’s blue eyes and helpless expression (that expression may have been real) abounded. The script may as well have read as follows: For 88 minutes, let Carol Kane be frazzled and zany. Let Haim grin and let Feldman furrow his eyebrows. Throw in a conspiratorial father-son moment (or two)! Destroy stuff. Make the girl cute and show her legs off accordingly. Make the twin sister a bookish contrast to Haim’s Haim-like mirth. And for God’s sake, keep it PG-13 appropriate! Think of our demographic here!
If you were thinking that the soundtrack had no legendary title track, you would be wrong yet again, and at this point, maybe consider walking away from the cinematic guessing game. BILLY OCEAN. That’s right, “Get Out of My Dreams, Get Into My Car” provided not only a movie-appropriate title track, but come on! Have you HEARD the song?
All in all, this movie was a recipe for late-80’s success. It achieved exactly what I imagine it set out to do: draw in teenage girls, and accordingly, their teenage dates who would see anything if it meant potentially holding hands and maybe even making out with them while said girls pretended they were with (either) Corey instead.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Things That Make Me SO HAPPY
My sister Shannon, who knows quite a bit about me and has stood by my side through the last two-plus tumultuous months (as well as the years before it), sends me articles that she feels are relevant to my life and/or good mood-boosters.
The one last night was entitled "25 Things That Make Me Want to Pee Myself with Happiness" and, I have to say, it was highly effective in reminding me to put things in perspective and not dwell on shit that I can't fix or in any other way change. In fact, it made me want to make my own list, based on the first things that popped into my mind. I'm not going to urge you to do the same, because I'm not your micro-manager and you have to get there yourself anyway, but here are mine. I'm not setting a number, because I'm not even sure what they are yet, but my one disclaimer is that things like "my family" and "my health" won't be on the list, though I am very grateful to have both. So, without further adieu, because there has been plenty already:
1. Really delicious food that's so delicious I do my little happy food dance when I'm eating, even if I'm alone.
2. The first Cadbury egg of the season.
3. All of the Cadbury eggs after that.
4. MUSIC. Specifically mine (really into Ghosts on the Boardwalk by Dave Hause right now; also, guiltily, Thrift Shop by Macklemore).
5. Walking around the land outside my house pretending to be a farmer (not actually farming. Aside from putting up the chickens and gathering their eggs, I mean. Whatever).
6. My car continuing to get me to all the places I need to go, because that's a pretty demanding job.
7. Being in the writing zone.
8. Staying up late and knowing I don't have to wake up early in the morning.
9. My couple of really great friends, because I generally don't let people in so these people had something special.
10. Alien Blue, particularly AskReddit.
11. Other people at work besides me being able to do the deposit.
12. The air in springtime. It just smells cleaner.
13. Being outside in the sun, picking up branches or sweeping off steps or just anything.
14. New Girl/Cougar Town/HIMYM
15. BASEBALL SEASON and the fact that at least one game's tickets are already purchased.
16. My trip this weekend to California!
17. Finding this amazing Sparkling Ice water to try to curb my diet pop addiction.
18. This pair of yoga pants I'm wearing right now that I actually do yoga in.
19. Freakin' funny pictures randomly sent to me by my meme-genius former co-worker.
I mean, that's 19 things right there, with almost no thought involved (something else I love! Not THINKING so much!),so, oh, man, there could be way more. The things that have been so difficult lately seem further away when I think instead about cool stuff.
Remember, I'm not saying you should try it.
I just liked the hell out of remembering how many things make me smile until my face hurts. But I'm weird that way.
The one last night was entitled "25 Things That Make Me Want to Pee Myself with Happiness" and, I have to say, it was highly effective in reminding me to put things in perspective and not dwell on shit that I can't fix or in any other way change. In fact, it made me want to make my own list, based on the first things that popped into my mind. I'm not going to urge you to do the same, because I'm not your micro-manager and you have to get there yourself anyway, but here are mine. I'm not setting a number, because I'm not even sure what they are yet, but my one disclaimer is that things like "my family" and "my health" won't be on the list, though I am very grateful to have both. So, without further adieu, because there has been plenty already:
1. Really delicious food that's so delicious I do my little happy food dance when I'm eating, even if I'm alone.
2. The first Cadbury egg of the season.
3. All of the Cadbury eggs after that.
4. MUSIC. Specifically mine (really into Ghosts on the Boardwalk by Dave Hause right now; also, guiltily, Thrift Shop by Macklemore).
5. Walking around the land outside my house pretending to be a farmer (not actually farming. Aside from putting up the chickens and gathering their eggs, I mean. Whatever).
6. My car continuing to get me to all the places I need to go, because that's a pretty demanding job.
7. Being in the writing zone.
8. Staying up late and knowing I don't have to wake up early in the morning.
9. My couple of really great friends, because I generally don't let people in so these people had something special.
10. Alien Blue, particularly AskReddit.
11. Other people at work besides me being able to do the deposit.
12. The air in springtime. It just smells cleaner.
13. Being outside in the sun, picking up branches or sweeping off steps or just anything.
14. New Girl/Cougar Town/HIMYM
15. BASEBALL SEASON and the fact that at least one game's tickets are already purchased.
16. My trip this weekend to California!
17. Finding this amazing Sparkling Ice water to try to curb my diet pop addiction.
18. This pair of yoga pants I'm wearing right now that I actually do yoga in.
19. Freakin' funny pictures randomly sent to me by my meme-genius former co-worker.
I mean, that's 19 things right there, with almost no thought involved (something else I love! Not THINKING so much!),so, oh, man, there could be way more. The things that have been so difficult lately seem further away when I think instead about cool stuff.
Remember, I'm not saying you should try it.
I just liked the hell out of remembering how many things make me smile until my face hurts. But I'm weird that way.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I Wanna be a Songwriter.
I've always loved to write, whatever. And I was fine with that, with just loving to write, until Saturday night when I went to see a band play in Springfield with my friend Lori.
We got to sit in the front, and I really listened to the lyrics of the songs.
And I thought, holy shit, this guy expresses what I'm feeling pretty well.
Now, having songs that fit your mood or lyrics that describe what you're going through is certainly nothing new. That's kind of the secret to the success of a band, that question of, can people relate? Can you reach people with your words by touching something deep (or maybe not so deep) inside them that makes them think, oh my God, they GET me, and become your fans?
But in the case of the songwriter, it's not just the words. It's the music that accompanies them. If you can't grab them with your lyrics, grab them with your beat. In that perfect case, grab them with both and feel like a god.
I got a little music envy, really, watching. I can write about things, and I LOVE music. But I'm hopeless at putting them together. Ten years of piano lessons and one night of my son trying to teach me to play the guitar does not, much as I want to believe otherwise, make me a musician.
But if I were to write that song, and set it to music, the lyrics would have something to do with change, and being tired, and not believing in something anymore that you once thought was the only thing you could count on. And how you just want to leave, despite of how much it terrifies you, and about how you're too jaded to believe that people can really change but admitting that to yourself kind of makes you think you've given up on people altogether. And if you can't have a connection with people, then what have you got?
And as for the beat, I'd say I'd want it to be something angry. Well, angry in the chorus. Maybe softer in the beginning, just enough to trick a listener into thinking that it's a slow song, then hit them with it. And they're like, whoa, I didn't see THAT coming. What a multi-faceted songwriter that is! I'd like to quit my job and follow her around the country.
Whoa. Sorry. I kind of let that one get away from me. I don't think I'd want somebody actually quitting their job and following me around the country, now that I think about it. That's kind of creepy.
I feel like I should also mention that I can't sing. And by that I mean I can't sing well. So if I were the one singing, it would have to be more of a throaty, raging yell. Or a mocking, smirky, speaking-singing delivery.
Not that I've thought about it.
But definitely angry. I feel like singing and playing a song that I wrote and put music to would be so cathartic that it might even drive the anger out. Or at least abate it somewhat. Writing is cleansing, but delivering that writing with a wailing guitar and hardcore drumbeat, now that, man, THAT would be amazing.
I don't so much know what my hypothetical band would be called, or even who would be in it. One thing at a time. Don't rush me!
I just want to have a song. Just a song.
We got to sit in the front, and I really listened to the lyrics of the songs.
And I thought, holy shit, this guy expresses what I'm feeling pretty well.
Now, having songs that fit your mood or lyrics that describe what you're going through is certainly nothing new. That's kind of the secret to the success of a band, that question of, can people relate? Can you reach people with your words by touching something deep (or maybe not so deep) inside them that makes them think, oh my God, they GET me, and become your fans?
But in the case of the songwriter, it's not just the words. It's the music that accompanies them. If you can't grab them with your lyrics, grab them with your beat. In that perfect case, grab them with both and feel like a god.
I got a little music envy, really, watching. I can write about things, and I LOVE music. But I'm hopeless at putting them together. Ten years of piano lessons and one night of my son trying to teach me to play the guitar does not, much as I want to believe otherwise, make me a musician.
But if I were to write that song, and set it to music, the lyrics would have something to do with change, and being tired, and not believing in something anymore that you once thought was the only thing you could count on. And how you just want to leave, despite of how much it terrifies you, and about how you're too jaded to believe that people can really change but admitting that to yourself kind of makes you think you've given up on people altogether. And if you can't have a connection with people, then what have you got?
And as for the beat, I'd say I'd want it to be something angry. Well, angry in the chorus. Maybe softer in the beginning, just enough to trick a listener into thinking that it's a slow song, then hit them with it. And they're like, whoa, I didn't see THAT coming. What a multi-faceted songwriter that is! I'd like to quit my job and follow her around the country.
Whoa. Sorry. I kind of let that one get away from me. I don't think I'd want somebody actually quitting their job and following me around the country, now that I think about it. That's kind of creepy.
I feel like I should also mention that I can't sing. And by that I mean I can't sing well. So if I were the one singing, it would have to be more of a throaty, raging yell. Or a mocking, smirky, speaking-singing delivery.
Not that I've thought about it.
But definitely angry. I feel like singing and playing a song that I wrote and put music to would be so cathartic that it might even drive the anger out. Or at least abate it somewhat. Writing is cleansing, but delivering that writing with a wailing guitar and hardcore drumbeat, now that, man, THAT would be amazing.
I don't so much know what my hypothetical band would be called, or even who would be in it. One thing at a time. Don't rush me!
I just want to have a song. Just a song.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Arming Our Teachers: Really?
Is it enough for teachers to be teachers, or should they also be prepared to defend the lives of their charges by any means necessary?
With the recent shocking violence of the Sandy Hook shooting, as well as the perception that there is increased gun violence in our schools, the debate rages about just how proactive our teachers should be. Is it enough that they are molding young minds, or should they also be prepared to protect those young minds and allow them to survive? Is it fair to ask such a thing of our educators, many of whom just want to teach and not be expected to defend themselves and their young charges by any means necessary?
Parents want to believe that their children are safe in school. School, after all, is supposed to be reliable. It’s supposed to protect. It is historically the very definition of nourishment, of the mind and the body. The perception has long been that school is a safe haven. If teachers and administrators are defenseless against violent perpetrators, why shouldn’t parents be afraid to leave their children at school anymore? Why shouldn’t they want to know that their children will be protected if someone tries to force his or her way in with a weapon?
This isn’t just about the students, either. They are young and defenseless within the walls of the school, but unarmed teachers are equally defenseless. The teachers should have a right to decide whether or not they will be sitting ducks, so to speak. They should be allowed to have a plan to protect those of whom they are in charge, in addition to protecting themselves.
Why are teachers the exception? Anyone with a concealed weapons permit can carry their weapon with them. Why can’t teachers be allowed this same privilege in the classroom? For students’ peace of mind, for parents’ peace of mind, and for administrators’ peace of mind, it is important that teachers be allowed to defend their classrooms in instances of attack.
Giving a teacher a gun does not guarantee the safety of anyone – not the child, and not the teacher. If anything, arming teachers presents the potential for more senseless violence. If a teacher is not familiar with handling a gun, or is not comfortable with being told that they must be prepared to fight and to kill in order to do their job, it is absolutely not fair to expect them to do so.
Additionally, who is to say that an innocent person won’t be hurt or killed? If a gun is easily accessible to a teacher, why couldn’t a student find and handle it too? If the gun is locked up away from students, then how is it feasible to have in the classroom? The teacher would have to be able to get to it, point it, aim it and shoot it in a very short amount of time, all of that with adrenaline rushing and students highly agitated. To have a plan to hide the students, get the students in their spots, retrieve the gun and then be able to use it effectively in a very small window of time is highly improbable at best.
Schools should absolutely have plans in place to deal with shooters. Screening for weapons or bulletproof glass are excellent ways to keep a shooter from entering the premises, either by blast or forced means, but if a person wants to come in and do harm to a group of people, they typically will find a way to do so. Providing more guns for people within the building could certainly complicate the matter, setting up a potential for a shootout situation in which innocent bystanders might be more likely to be wounded or killed. Having safeguards in place to prevent children from accessing the gun will also slow down potential response time of the teacher, time in which the shooter could do more damage.
There are too many things that could go wrong for arming teachers within the school to be a good idea. False alarms, delayed response time, and keeping children out of the line of fire are all potential negative results. There isn’t an answer that will protect every child in every circumstance. However, time and proper attention to detail may come up with workable solutions that protect the majority.
No child left behind? Maybe not, but in this case, cooler heads are better than itchy trigger fingers.
With the recent shocking violence of the Sandy Hook shooting, as well as the perception that there is increased gun violence in our schools, the debate rages about just how proactive our teachers should be. Is it enough that they are molding young minds, or should they also be prepared to protect those young minds and allow them to survive? Is it fair to ask such a thing of our educators, many of whom just want to teach and not be expected to defend themselves and their young charges by any means necessary?
Parents want to believe that their children are safe in school. School, after all, is supposed to be reliable. It’s supposed to protect. It is historically the very definition of nourishment, of the mind and the body. The perception has long been that school is a safe haven. If teachers and administrators are defenseless against violent perpetrators, why shouldn’t parents be afraid to leave their children at school anymore? Why shouldn’t they want to know that their children will be protected if someone tries to force his or her way in with a weapon?
This isn’t just about the students, either. They are young and defenseless within the walls of the school, but unarmed teachers are equally defenseless. The teachers should have a right to decide whether or not they will be sitting ducks, so to speak. They should be allowed to have a plan to protect those of whom they are in charge, in addition to protecting themselves.
Why are teachers the exception? Anyone with a concealed weapons permit can carry their weapon with them. Why can’t teachers be allowed this same privilege in the classroom? For students’ peace of mind, for parents’ peace of mind, and for administrators’ peace of mind, it is important that teachers be allowed to defend their classrooms in instances of attack.
Giving a teacher a gun does not guarantee the safety of anyone – not the child, and not the teacher. If anything, arming teachers presents the potential for more senseless violence. If a teacher is not familiar with handling a gun, or is not comfortable with being told that they must be prepared to fight and to kill in order to do their job, it is absolutely not fair to expect them to do so.
Additionally, who is to say that an innocent person won’t be hurt or killed? If a gun is easily accessible to a teacher, why couldn’t a student find and handle it too? If the gun is locked up away from students, then how is it feasible to have in the classroom? The teacher would have to be able to get to it, point it, aim it and shoot it in a very short amount of time, all of that with adrenaline rushing and students highly agitated. To have a plan to hide the students, get the students in their spots, retrieve the gun and then be able to use it effectively in a very small window of time is highly improbable at best.
Schools should absolutely have plans in place to deal with shooters. Screening for weapons or bulletproof glass are excellent ways to keep a shooter from entering the premises, either by blast or forced means, but if a person wants to come in and do harm to a group of people, they typically will find a way to do so. Providing more guns for people within the building could certainly complicate the matter, setting up a potential for a shootout situation in which innocent bystanders might be more likely to be wounded or killed. Having safeguards in place to prevent children from accessing the gun will also slow down potential response time of the teacher, time in which the shooter could do more damage.
There are too many things that could go wrong for arming teachers within the school to be a good idea. False alarms, delayed response time, and keeping children out of the line of fire are all potential negative results. There isn’t an answer that will protect every child in every circumstance. However, time and proper attention to detail may come up with workable solutions that protect the majority.
No child left behind? Maybe not, but in this case, cooler heads are better than itchy trigger fingers.
Friday, March 8, 2013
AskReddit
Do you Reddit? If you do, you have to tell me, because we will have so much to talk about.
If you don't, that's okay, because it's not for everybody. In fact, my initial foray into www.reddit.com left me unimpressed. It's not nearly as easy to delve into on a computer. Too busy. Too much going on.
I recommend the Reddit Pics app on the phone. That's a good, easy way to begin, if you're so inclined.
That's all whatever. I don't really care one way or the other. It works for me, and that's really the important thing.
What I want to talk about is the subreddit called AskReddit.
Redditors pose a question, any kind of question, and then others answer it. There are a LOT of awesome outcomes in this subreddit. For example, the worst lie your parents ever told you made me feel like the best parent ever. Here was an answer:
They told me that the ice cream truck was the music truck and it just drove around playing music to cheer people up.
They told ME that the ice cream truck only played music when it ran out of ice cream.
Are those sad or what? I loved it.
The one that really hit me yesterday, though, was this question:
If you could ask a potential date one question to determine if they were the one for you, what would it be?
There were a lot of great answers to this, but my favorite was one I would actually use. In fact, I think it's a good all-around question if you want to discover things about yourself.
Here it is.
Rank the following in order of importance to you: Career, Love, Happiness, Family, Religion, Education, Having Kids, Adventure, Politics, Drugs, Health
I have rolled that around in my mind a lot. The best I can come up with is that my last place answer is definitely Having Kids. Second to last, Drugs. Really, I'd say those two are tied for last. After that, it's a jumble. I think happiness comes first with me, but then what? Having spent some time without good health, I can tell you it's awesome to have, so that's probably second. Third is absolutely confusing. I want to say adventure and I want to say love. But politics fascinate me, and then again, I love my job at Pitt State. And I wouldn't have my job at Pitt without my education. ARGH. So many choices.
The point is, what's important to you? Mull these over. Think about who you are. And then act accordingly.
If you don't, that's okay, because it's not for everybody. In fact, my initial foray into www.reddit.com left me unimpressed. It's not nearly as easy to delve into on a computer. Too busy. Too much going on.
I recommend the Reddit Pics app on the phone. That's a good, easy way to begin, if you're so inclined.
That's all whatever. I don't really care one way or the other. It works for me, and that's really the important thing.
What I want to talk about is the subreddit called AskReddit.
Redditors pose a question, any kind of question, and then others answer it. There are a LOT of awesome outcomes in this subreddit. For example, the worst lie your parents ever told you made me feel like the best parent ever. Here was an answer:
They told me that the ice cream truck was the music truck and it just drove around playing music to cheer people up.
They told ME that the ice cream truck only played music when it ran out of ice cream.
Are those sad or what? I loved it.
The one that really hit me yesterday, though, was this question:
If you could ask a potential date one question to determine if they were the one for you, what would it be?
There were a lot of great answers to this, but my favorite was one I would actually use. In fact, I think it's a good all-around question if you want to discover things about yourself.
Here it is.
Rank the following in order of importance to you: Career, Love, Happiness, Family, Religion, Education, Having Kids, Adventure, Politics, Drugs, Health
I have rolled that around in my mind a lot. The best I can come up with is that my last place answer is definitely Having Kids. Second to last, Drugs. Really, I'd say those two are tied for last. After that, it's a jumble. I think happiness comes first with me, but then what? Having spent some time without good health, I can tell you it's awesome to have, so that's probably second. Third is absolutely confusing. I want to say adventure and I want to say love. But politics fascinate me, and then again, I love my job at Pitt State. And I wouldn't have my job at Pitt without my education. ARGH. So many choices.
The point is, what's important to you? Mull these over. Think about who you are. And then act accordingly.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
So These Are The Days My Mother Warned Me About...
I have vaguely alluded to the fact that I've had a bad run of luck recently, and not to make light of that, but come on, if you can't laugh at yourself, who CAN you laugh at?
Recently I learned that maybe I wasn't the world's best wife, mother, OR employee. Color me SHOCKED. I thought I absolutely killed all three roles. Turns out I killed them, all right. Just maybe not in the way I defined "killed."
As I enter this rebuilding phase as a parent and as a worker, I take two things from my experience.
First of all, if I'm blamed for being sub-par, part of me feels an intense desire to rebel and become just as irresponsible as I'm accused of being. If people don't believe in me, what's the point of being good?
Secondly, well, wait. I guess it's just the "first of all" part that's tugging at me today.
I am a big proponent of making your own happiness and reaching for and achieving your dreams. If something that once caused you happiness is now causing you great despair, why would you continue to make yourself miserable by marinating in that negativity?
On the other hand, there is something to be said for responsibility. For fixing what's broken and knowing that you did a job and did it well. For sticking with something even though the last thing it feels like is fun.
How do you strike that balance? How do you maintain responsibility and still have fun?
Seriously, I'm asking. Because, personally? I don't know the answer anymore.
As a parent, I'm determined to do the right thing. As a worker, my tenacity/stubbornness is keeping me from walking away. I can do this. I will do this.
But sometimes I get tired. Sometimes I couldn't give less of a shit about any of it, because I just want to relax. I just want to have fun. I just want to enjoy my life.
Working seven days a week and worrying every bit of those seven days is not fun.
The other day my son told me he just wanted to be an adult. My heart broke for him. I remembered that feeling so well when he voiced it. I thought things would be great. I thought I would have all this freedom. I thought that my life would be like a solid roller coaster of fun and sophistication.
What a child yearning to be an adult doesn't think about, because how can you know that feeling, really, until you experience it?, is that, bills. Responsibility. Work (often boring work). Aging. More worry than you know what to do with. Sleepless nights. Deadlines. Being in charge of another person.
The fun parts? Not being grounded. Going somewhere without having to ask permission first. Not being too young to do something.
Actually, being married often means having to ask permission to do things, so strike number two. Still, One and Three are pretty huge.
I was grounded a lot when I was a kid, and I should have been. I don't blame my mother for the choices she made in my upbringing. I often did at the time, but I was a stupid kid.
I just want my son to reach adulthood, and, if it's not too ambitious to add a codicil onto that, I want him to do so and still love me.
There are a lot of things I could walk away from, but my kid will never be one of them. No matter what trials life brings us, he is the absolute coolest thing I ever made.
Someday you will be an adult, son, and I hope it brings you great joy and frustration and exhilaration and anger and sadness and happiness, in ever repeating cycles that remind you periodically that you're completely, crazily ALIVE.
And all the while, your mom will be there, if not literally then certainly in spirit, and she will love you more wholly and completely than she has ever loved anything.
Recently I learned that maybe I wasn't the world's best wife, mother, OR employee. Color me SHOCKED. I thought I absolutely killed all three roles. Turns out I killed them, all right. Just maybe not in the way I defined "killed."
As I enter this rebuilding phase as a parent and as a worker, I take two things from my experience.
First of all, if I'm blamed for being sub-par, part of me feels an intense desire to rebel and become just as irresponsible as I'm accused of being. If people don't believe in me, what's the point of being good?
Secondly, well, wait. I guess it's just the "first of all" part that's tugging at me today.
I am a big proponent of making your own happiness and reaching for and achieving your dreams. If something that once caused you happiness is now causing you great despair, why would you continue to make yourself miserable by marinating in that negativity?
On the other hand, there is something to be said for responsibility. For fixing what's broken and knowing that you did a job and did it well. For sticking with something even though the last thing it feels like is fun.
How do you strike that balance? How do you maintain responsibility and still have fun?
Seriously, I'm asking. Because, personally? I don't know the answer anymore.
As a parent, I'm determined to do the right thing. As a worker, my tenacity/stubbornness is keeping me from walking away. I can do this. I will do this.
But sometimes I get tired. Sometimes I couldn't give less of a shit about any of it, because I just want to relax. I just want to have fun. I just want to enjoy my life.
Working seven days a week and worrying every bit of those seven days is not fun.
The other day my son told me he just wanted to be an adult. My heart broke for him. I remembered that feeling so well when he voiced it. I thought things would be great. I thought I would have all this freedom. I thought that my life would be like a solid roller coaster of fun and sophistication.
What a child yearning to be an adult doesn't think about, because how can you know that feeling, really, until you experience it?, is that, bills. Responsibility. Work (often boring work). Aging. More worry than you know what to do with. Sleepless nights. Deadlines. Being in charge of another person.
The fun parts? Not being grounded. Going somewhere without having to ask permission first. Not being too young to do something.
Actually, being married often means having to ask permission to do things, so strike number two. Still, One and Three are pretty huge.
I was grounded a lot when I was a kid, and I should have been. I don't blame my mother for the choices she made in my upbringing. I often did at the time, but I was a stupid kid.
I just want my son to reach adulthood, and, if it's not too ambitious to add a codicil onto that, I want him to do so and still love me.
There are a lot of things I could walk away from, but my kid will never be one of them. No matter what trials life brings us, he is the absolute coolest thing I ever made.
Someday you will be an adult, son, and I hope it brings you great joy and frustration and exhilaration and anger and sadness and happiness, in ever repeating cycles that remind you periodically that you're completely, crazily ALIVE.
And all the while, your mom will be there, if not literally then certainly in spirit, and she will love you more wholly and completely than she has ever loved anything.
As California Goes...
It is a dim but steady light that shines on the possibility of a United States that will allow gay marriage.
As of November 7, 2012, gay marriage is legal in nine states: Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, Maryland, Maine, and Washington, in addition to the District of Columbia.
From June until November of 2008, same-sex couples were allowed to marry in California, as well, but with the passage of Proposition 8, an amendment to the California Constitution, marriage was legally defined within the state as a union between one man and one woman. Then, in June of 2010, a federal district court declared this ban unconstitutional. The Court of Appeals upheld the ruling, and it is now being reviewed by the United States Supreme Court.
Despite these state battles, a federal measure seemed to be a long shot. However, with President Obama’s recent formal expression for support of California legalization, the ray of hope for a nationwide lifting of the ban widens slightly.
Marriage is already a precarious institution, with high divorce rates hovering between 40 and 50 percent. Allowing same-sex couples to marry would further weaken it. Additionally, people should not have to spend their hard-earned tax dollars to support something that they don’t agree with.
Not only that, but the majority of strong religious institutions in the United States do not believe in same-sex marriage, and legalizing it would put those churches in a tight spot. If they don’t believe in gay marriage, how can these administrations in good conscience allow same-sex couples to marry in their churches?
Furthermore, what is the point of same-sex couples marrying anyway if they’re unable to procreate? Isn’t marriage all about making families? Adopting a baby into a same-sex family will surely only be detrimental to that child in the long run. A well-adjusted child needs to be raised in a household with both a mother and father, not two of one or the other.
Massachusetts became the first state to legalize gay marriage, in 2004. Between 2003 and 2008, its divorce rate declined 21 percent, culminating in the state having the lowest divorce rate in the nation. The states with the highest divorce rates all currently ban same-sex marriage.
Same-sex marriage is a civil right. The 1967 Supreme Court case Loving v. Virginia confirmed that marriage is "one of the basic civil rights of man.” This is a matter for government to decide, not religion. Marriage is a secular institution, not a religious one, and as such, the church should have no place in it. There is a separation of church and state for a reason.
To say that marriage and procreation go hand-in-hand is to belittle not only gay couples, but infertile ones. The ability to produce has never been a qualification for marriage, as marriage is a union between two people, not an entire family. Additionally, for every study pointing out the detriments of a child being raised in a same-sex marriage, there is one proclaiming that children raised by same-sex parents do better socially and academically as a whole.
Regardless of the pros and cons of this debate, the fact remains that we are denying basic equal rights to a large segment of our nation’s population. It is humiliating to think that a nation as allegedly powerful and progressive as the United States will not legally recognize the desire of so many to take part in an institution so secular. One can only hope that someday this argument will be nothing more than a past embarrassment to be swept under the rug, like slavery and segregation. If two people love one another and want to marry, it should be nobody else’s business how they choose to celebrate their relationship. It should not matter if they might get divorced, or if they might adopt a child. That is their business, and as such it starts and ends with them. Perhaps the day will come when the phrase “gay marriage” is obsolete, and the single word “marriage” is used for all.
As with any big change, many baby steps must be taken first. Although it may seem as though progress is slow overall, at least the momentum appears to be gaining in favor of equality for all couples. The country’s eyes are on California now, and as history tells us, “As California goes, so goes the nation.”
One can only hope that it continues to hold true.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Happy? Anniversary
I started my day bright and early this morning; it was 2:45, to be exact. I took Zane to the airport in Kansas City, and we almost made it before I got a ticket (75 in a 65. Come ON!).
Something about the situation kept my brain tingling. Kansas City...lots of snow...something was very familiar. Even the date, March 1, kept jostling for attention in my head.
I had already dropped him off and had nearly made it back out of the city before it all slammed home.
Two years ago today, on March 1, 2011, I had eggs harvested.
Two years ago tomorrow, on March 2, 2011, I began chemotherapy.
I remember the procedure right up to the part where they knocked me out. My stomach looked like a pincushion from all the hormone shots. I was crying roughly five times per hour, at everything; the sky, the way somebody looked at me, the bloated feeling all those shots gave me.
One thing I never cried about in that time, curiously, was having cancer. Call it a happy little bubble of denial. Call it whatever you want.
I was just glad that I got through it without throwing a giant pity party. I didn't even throw a little one.
Of course, had I known then what I know now, I would never have had to have that procedure. If anybody needs some frozen eggs, by the way, I know where six are that you can totally have. Maybe a little freezer-burnt, but other than that, really fine specimens.
I guess. I never met them or anything. I'm just going by what the doctor told me.
And once I got those eggs harvested, I didn't want to wait even one more minute to start chemo. I called Via Christi and begged them to move it up so that I could get crackin'. They obliged, and so it was that I went from one procedure to the next before I had too much time to think about what was happening.
Have you ever gone through something that, at the time, didn't seem like it was anything, but later, you can't imagine how you got through it? Yeah, that was cancer.
It sucked, but it seemed like I had the best possible experience with it anyone could have. I had an amazing circle of support. I had Sarah Burkybile and Marilyn Edmonds to coach me through each step. I had an incredible family (still do).
All of that love and light in my everyday environment helped fill me with determination, even as I got the ever loving shit kicked out of me by all of that poison.
Two years down. I'm no math scholar, but that means I'm two-fifths of the way to survivor status. I don't want to tempt fate, but I am just as much, if not more, determined to beat this thing once and for all than I have ever been.
I have things to do. I have a kid who is going to graduate before I know it.
I have a master's degree to snag.
I have a doctorate to get after that.
My third book isn't going to finish itself (much as I wish it would).
My other goals are much more personal, but that doesn't make them any less real.
The point is, even if you "beat" cancer, it never really leaves you. It whispers after you at the oddest times. It reminds you of its presence every time you pay a medical bill.
I remember it every time I have my blood pressure taken and remember the cuff has to go on the left arm.
I remember it every time I see my scar, or my radiation tattoos.
I remember it every time I fill out a form that asks for past hospitalizations.
We will be together forever, in some form, and I have accepted that.
Still, though, two years feels pretty damn good.
And I still enjoy every sandwich.
Something about the situation kept my brain tingling. Kansas City...lots of snow...something was very familiar. Even the date, March 1, kept jostling for attention in my head.
I had already dropped him off and had nearly made it back out of the city before it all slammed home.
Two years ago today, on March 1, 2011, I had eggs harvested.
Two years ago tomorrow, on March 2, 2011, I began chemotherapy.
I remember the procedure right up to the part where they knocked me out. My stomach looked like a pincushion from all the hormone shots. I was crying roughly five times per hour, at everything; the sky, the way somebody looked at me, the bloated feeling all those shots gave me.
One thing I never cried about in that time, curiously, was having cancer. Call it a happy little bubble of denial. Call it whatever you want.
I was just glad that I got through it without throwing a giant pity party. I didn't even throw a little one.
Of course, had I known then what I know now, I would never have had to have that procedure. If anybody needs some frozen eggs, by the way, I know where six are that you can totally have. Maybe a little freezer-burnt, but other than that, really fine specimens.
I guess. I never met them or anything. I'm just going by what the doctor told me.
And once I got those eggs harvested, I didn't want to wait even one more minute to start chemo. I called Via Christi and begged them to move it up so that I could get crackin'. They obliged, and so it was that I went from one procedure to the next before I had too much time to think about what was happening.
Have you ever gone through something that, at the time, didn't seem like it was anything, but later, you can't imagine how you got through it? Yeah, that was cancer.
It sucked, but it seemed like I had the best possible experience with it anyone could have. I had an amazing circle of support. I had Sarah Burkybile and Marilyn Edmonds to coach me through each step. I had an incredible family (still do).
All of that love and light in my everyday environment helped fill me with determination, even as I got the ever loving shit kicked out of me by all of that poison.
Two years down. I'm no math scholar, but that means I'm two-fifths of the way to survivor status. I don't want to tempt fate, but I am just as much, if not more, determined to beat this thing once and for all than I have ever been.
I have things to do. I have a kid who is going to graduate before I know it.
I have a master's degree to snag.
I have a doctorate to get after that.
My third book isn't going to finish itself (much as I wish it would).
My other goals are much more personal, but that doesn't make them any less real.
The point is, even if you "beat" cancer, it never really leaves you. It whispers after you at the oddest times. It reminds you of its presence every time you pay a medical bill.
I remember it every time I have my blood pressure taken and remember the cuff has to go on the left arm.
I remember it every time I see my scar, or my radiation tattoos.
I remember it every time I fill out a form that asks for past hospitalizations.
We will be together forever, in some form, and I have accepted that.
Still, though, two years feels pretty damn good.
And I still enjoy every sandwich.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Non-Stop Montage
My February has been, in a word, shit.
A series of things happened that took me all over the place emotionally, and the fact that so many of them happened all at once was just breathtaking.
What grounded me? We all have our health still. Nobody died. I have a couple of people who just, well, get me.
My number-one salvation, though, was music. When a day had completely sucker-punched me, or, as was the case, several days in a row, and I would sit back and think, what the HELL was that?, it was music that brought things into perspective.
And thanks to a couple of like-minded friends, I discovered a lot of new music. Music for sadness. Music for inspiration. Music for kicking mental ass.
It made me think, why can't life be a more or less nonstop music montage? I say "more or less" because I know that the danger of having something around all the time can make you tune it out. Familiarity breeds contempt, you know?
In the movies, when a music montage is played, what happens? A LOT of shit gets done. The first time I really understood this, I was nine and watching Revenge of the Nerds. I think the song went something like, "You put one foot in front of the other foot, and the other foot down, down, down." By the time that was over, guess what happened? THE WHOLE DAMN HOUSE WAS RENOVATED. And it was a seriously dilapidated house, folks. It should probably have been condemned. But they had completely restored it, on a college student budget, within one song!
How can you not love that concept?
There were many music montages in my life from that point forth. Rocky in training. Assorted people undergoing some sort of life-altering transformation. All good stuff.
That is the backbone of my long-term practice to keep music playing in my life as often as possible. I have it loaded on my computer. On my phone. XM Radio fills the void in my car. Or my backup CD collection. I even have some cassettes stashed around here somewhere. No more records, sadly.
I miss records.
Music playing reminds me that, no matter what, there is beauty in the world. I see it in nature, and I appreciate it. But with that current of music added, it's like Life 2.0. It takes me a little further. It makes me a little better.
Even if it doesn't, it feels like it does, and really, don't we make our own reality?
The songs that have made me happy this month include:
1. All My Days, Alexi Murdoch
2. The Loneliness and the Scream, Frightened Rabbit
3. F@$$ Was I, Jenny Owen Youngs
4. Stubborn Love, The Lumineers (whole album is pretty good)
5. San Francisco, The Mowgli's
6. L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N, Noah and the Whale
7. Past Lives, Langhorne Slim and the Law
8. Cut it Out, Kitten
9. Don't Say Oh Well, Grouplove
10. I Can't Cry No More, Heartpunch
Really great. That doesn't even count the dozens of others I listen to on a daily basis, but they're some recent favorites.
Find your own montage. Make your own happiness.
You may not get that house renovated in two minutes, but you'll feel like you can take on the world.
Or at least like the world won't eat you.
A series of things happened that took me all over the place emotionally, and the fact that so many of them happened all at once was just breathtaking.
What grounded me? We all have our health still. Nobody died. I have a couple of people who just, well, get me.
My number-one salvation, though, was music. When a day had completely sucker-punched me, or, as was the case, several days in a row, and I would sit back and think, what the HELL was that?, it was music that brought things into perspective.
And thanks to a couple of like-minded friends, I discovered a lot of new music. Music for sadness. Music for inspiration. Music for kicking mental ass.
It made me think, why can't life be a more or less nonstop music montage? I say "more or less" because I know that the danger of having something around all the time can make you tune it out. Familiarity breeds contempt, you know?
In the movies, when a music montage is played, what happens? A LOT of shit gets done. The first time I really understood this, I was nine and watching Revenge of the Nerds. I think the song went something like, "You put one foot in front of the other foot, and the other foot down, down, down." By the time that was over, guess what happened? THE WHOLE DAMN HOUSE WAS RENOVATED. And it was a seriously dilapidated house, folks. It should probably have been condemned. But they had completely restored it, on a college student budget, within one song!
How can you not love that concept?
There were many music montages in my life from that point forth. Rocky in training. Assorted people undergoing some sort of life-altering transformation. All good stuff.
That is the backbone of my long-term practice to keep music playing in my life as often as possible. I have it loaded on my computer. On my phone. XM Radio fills the void in my car. Or my backup CD collection. I even have some cassettes stashed around here somewhere. No more records, sadly.
I miss records.
Music playing reminds me that, no matter what, there is beauty in the world. I see it in nature, and I appreciate it. But with that current of music added, it's like Life 2.0. It takes me a little further. It makes me a little better.
Even if it doesn't, it feels like it does, and really, don't we make our own reality?
The songs that have made me happy this month include:
1. All My Days, Alexi Murdoch
2. The Loneliness and the Scream, Frightened Rabbit
3. F@$$ Was I, Jenny Owen Youngs
4. Stubborn Love, The Lumineers (whole album is pretty good)
5. San Francisco, The Mowgli's
6. L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N, Noah and the Whale
7. Past Lives, Langhorne Slim and the Law
8. Cut it Out, Kitten
9. Don't Say Oh Well, Grouplove
10. I Can't Cry No More, Heartpunch
Really great. That doesn't even count the dozens of others I listen to on a daily basis, but they're some recent favorites.
Find your own montage. Make your own happiness.
You may not get that house renovated in two minutes, but you'll feel like you can take on the world.
Or at least like the world won't eat you.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Freedom of Choice
Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books that got really popular in the Eighties? For the kids reading them, life could be easily fixed just by flipping back a few pages. Oh, I got eaten by the tiger and the story is finished? I don’t think so, buddy. Do-over! And parents would shake their heads and chuckle bemusedly, because real life wasn’t quite that simple, but kids will be kids and there would be plenty of time for them to learn what real life was like later.
Fast-forward to present day, and things still aren’t quite that simple, but we’re working on it. In the Choose-Your-Own-Adventure days, the news was pretty straightforward. You turned on the television, maybe the radio, and you were told something, along with the rest of the nation, and that was what everyone was told. There were different networks, but the news was essentially the same news.
The Choose-Your-Own-Adventure kids are all grown up now, though, and guess what happened? We’re living in a society in which you get to decide what you want your news to be. As networks like CNN and Fox branched off and started to market their own versions of what was going on in the world, people learned that, hey! I like it when the guy talks to me on this station. Or, hey! I don’t like that guy. I don’t like the way he’s saying what he’s saying. This other guy is saying something different, so I’ll go to him.
In short, news isn’t really news. It’s a packaged program designed to draw in like-minded viewers, and it’s very scientific. The more people, the more advertising dollars. The more advertising dollars, the more money. The more money, the more power. The more power, the better the PLAN TO ACHIEVE WORLD DOMINANCE!
And the beauty of it all? The best part? You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to listen. We are truly living in a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure world.
My news intake is very selective. In the old days, news depressed me, so I would change the channel when it came on. In present day, I feel the same way. But sometimes I use the news in the way a junkie uses a needle – for instant gratification. I want to believe that there are more people like me than there are people unlike me.
I can browse Reddit and feel good about the world and my place in it, and why wouldn’t I want to do that? It’s human nature. Even social media knows what’s up, and has adjusted accordingly. Facebook, for example, has a great feature when somebody’s views are particularly annoying…you can take them out of your news feed. It’s for those people like me who like to avoid conflict, but can’t quite bring themselves to unfriend a person with opposing views.
I use it a lot. And by doing that, I am deciding what news I get in my daily life.
Does it make reality different? Maybe not, but it makes MY reality different.
And I’m not the only one. All over the world, people are choosing what they want to believe, which means choosing what they want to view, and that, in turn, is changing the way the media reports.
Sensationalism sells, as always. People are always looking for the next big story to share on their Facebook wall. But aside from that, birds of a feather flock together. News has very little to do with news nowadays, and everything to do with marketing. Target audiences. Shares. Profit. Cold, hard cash.
Welcome to the new world, folks. Choose your own news adventure. As for myself, I’ll be gleaning my information from Reddit. From my people-like-me news feeds. From the people I like. And pretty much nobody else. You can’t trust them, after all. They’re liars.
Fast-forward to present day, and things still aren’t quite that simple, but we’re working on it. In the Choose-Your-Own-Adventure days, the news was pretty straightforward. You turned on the television, maybe the radio, and you were told something, along with the rest of the nation, and that was what everyone was told. There were different networks, but the news was essentially the same news.
The Choose-Your-Own-Adventure kids are all grown up now, though, and guess what happened? We’re living in a society in which you get to decide what you want your news to be. As networks like CNN and Fox branched off and started to market their own versions of what was going on in the world, people learned that, hey! I like it when the guy talks to me on this station. Or, hey! I don’t like that guy. I don’t like the way he’s saying what he’s saying. This other guy is saying something different, so I’ll go to him.
In short, news isn’t really news. It’s a packaged program designed to draw in like-minded viewers, and it’s very scientific. The more people, the more advertising dollars. The more advertising dollars, the more money. The more money, the more power. The more power, the better the PLAN TO ACHIEVE WORLD DOMINANCE!
And the beauty of it all? The best part? You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to listen. We are truly living in a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure world.
My news intake is very selective. In the old days, news depressed me, so I would change the channel when it came on. In present day, I feel the same way. But sometimes I use the news in the way a junkie uses a needle – for instant gratification. I want to believe that there are more people like me than there are people unlike me.
I can browse Reddit and feel good about the world and my place in it, and why wouldn’t I want to do that? It’s human nature. Even social media knows what’s up, and has adjusted accordingly. Facebook, for example, has a great feature when somebody’s views are particularly annoying…you can take them out of your news feed. It’s for those people like me who like to avoid conflict, but can’t quite bring themselves to unfriend a person with opposing views.
I use it a lot. And by doing that, I am deciding what news I get in my daily life.
Does it make reality different? Maybe not, but it makes MY reality different.
And I’m not the only one. All over the world, people are choosing what they want to believe, which means choosing what they want to view, and that, in turn, is changing the way the media reports.
Sensationalism sells, as always. People are always looking for the next big story to share on their Facebook wall. But aside from that, birds of a feather flock together. News has very little to do with news nowadays, and everything to do with marketing. Target audiences. Shares. Profit. Cold, hard cash.
Welcome to the new world, folks. Choose your own news adventure. As for myself, I’ll be gleaning my information from Reddit. From my people-like-me news feeds. From the people I like. And pretty much nobody else. You can’t trust them, after all. They’re liars.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Jury Time!
Have you ever read John Grisham? Specifically in the 90's, when he was big and there was a general lull in amazing writing and it was easy to get drawn in, because what else was there in life, really, particularly when you lived in the middle of nowhere?
I think it was that leftover, somewhat fuzzy nostalgia that filled me with excitement when I got called up to the Big Show on Sunday.
The Big Show, in this case, meant advancing beyond the calling-in portion of my four-week District Court jury rotation and making it to tryouts.
I have this fondness for new experiences sometimes, and even though this was a huge pain in the ass in general (how often is getting called 100 miles away to a courtroom for an indefinite period of time when you have two jobs and children anything BUT a pain in the ass? That's a rhetorical question), I have this intense curiosity about the trial process. Add to that a current enrollment in a seminar class focusing on Freedom of Speech cases, and it was excitement, more than dread, that filled me when I arrived at the courthouse in Springfield.
After they wrestled my phone and Kindle away from me, I dejectedly wandered in the wrong direction until a marshal? uniform guy? pointed me in the right one.
I found myself in a roomful of people, doughnuts, and general air of mediocrity. They had coffee, though, and it was free, and that's all that mattered. I gulped it while we were instructed, first by a live person, then by a video featuring Sandra Day O'Connor and Samuel Alito, about the jury selection process and how seriously we should take it. Being a huge American history nerd, I got goosebump-y on the outside and patriotic-y on the inside, and generally melted into a big puddle of determination that I would do my country right, by God.
The next step was going up another flight of stairs and filing in the courtroom one by one as our names were called. I was Juror 14, the last one to get a big comfy chair in the jury box. The next 14 jurors had to sit on hard pews.
My inner jury selector failed during the next step, when, one at a time, we rose and answered the questions printed on the back of our numbered jury cards (name, where we lived, how long we had lived there, highest level of education, current employment, how long we had worked there, what our job duties were, marital status, spouse's occupation if there was one, number of children, and their ages). There was one woman who very clearly wasn't going to make the cut. She started in the next round, when the questions were general ones to which we held up our numbers if they applied.
The question was, "Have you served on a jury before?"
She held up her card. The judge asked her what kind of trial. She didn't remember. He asked what it was about. She didn't remember, only that it was "really bad." He asked how they, the jury, had decided. She answered that she didn't know.
"I wasn't on the jury."
The next question was if any of us had some general objection, maybe on the basis of religion or personal preference, that would keep us from serving on the jury effectively. She raised her card. He asked for details.
She raised her eyebrows. "I'll tell ya later."
Recess, in which we went back to the doughnuts and (now empty) coffee pot. We had 40 minutes to kill while the lawyers decided our fate. I hadn't said anything particularly enlightening or intelligent, and this jury would only have eight members, not 12, so I had a pretty solid feeling I would be going home soon.
The feeling became more solid when we filed back in and the jurors began to be called. Juror number two was also named Jennifer. There was no way they would have two Jennifers on the jury! Especially not a jury of eight! Then, three out of the first four jurors were women. They wouldn't want a jury full of women!
I was Juror Six. There would be two Jennifers on a jury, after all, perhaps for the first time in history.
Several of the people who had caught my eye in the general pool were on the jury, too, so I consoled myself about missing the signs that I would be chosen by telling myself that the other chosen ones had clearly caught my eye for a reason.
We were given a break for lunch, and the trial started at one. Fast, you say? Definitely. Boring? You bet.
I fell asleep in opening arguments, but woke violently due to the force my head fell forward, snapping me awake. After that, it was easier to stay awake.
The topic was more boring than anything I could have made up in my mind, and it didn't improve. The second witness sounded just like Zach Galifinakis when he did the southern-drawl characters in his repertoire, and that fascination kept my attention sharply-focused through the rest of the afternoon.
The snacks in the jury room were pretty good, and there was more coffee.
Day One was all right.
Day Two brought with it the threat of inclement weather and the promise of a really draggy trial, as the second witness testified for over two more hours.
Mercifully, we braked for lunch again, and I was filled with a bad feeling when the judge, a really likable guy, told us to take a break and "try to come back by one." That meant, in my mind, that we wouldn't be back in the jury room until at least 1:30.
I was a little off. We continued to wait, and I joked that probably they would settle if we just told them to. "Call Steve [court deputy] in here, and tell him we decided they should settle without ever discussing the case amongst ourselves!" I said.
Funny story. That's exactly what they were doing. Steve did come in, along with the judge and his clerky guy, about 15 minutes later, to tell us that very thing. We were not allowed to take our notes with us (a shame, as my predominant note had said "bullshit reasoning" with about six arrows pointing to it).
I took a granola bar for the road, bid my two-day family adieu, and left with my stamped certificate verifying that, for a short time, I had fulfilled my civic duty.
And I don't have to call in for my fourth and final week of rotation. Is it weird that part of me was sad about it?
I think it was that leftover, somewhat fuzzy nostalgia that filled me with excitement when I got called up to the Big Show on Sunday.
The Big Show, in this case, meant advancing beyond the calling-in portion of my four-week District Court jury rotation and making it to tryouts.
I have this fondness for new experiences sometimes, and even though this was a huge pain in the ass in general (how often is getting called 100 miles away to a courtroom for an indefinite period of time when you have two jobs and children anything BUT a pain in the ass? That's a rhetorical question), I have this intense curiosity about the trial process. Add to that a current enrollment in a seminar class focusing on Freedom of Speech cases, and it was excitement, more than dread, that filled me when I arrived at the courthouse in Springfield.
After they wrestled my phone and Kindle away from me, I dejectedly wandered in the wrong direction until a marshal? uniform guy? pointed me in the right one.
I found myself in a roomful of people, doughnuts, and general air of mediocrity. They had coffee, though, and it was free, and that's all that mattered. I gulped it while we were instructed, first by a live person, then by a video featuring Sandra Day O'Connor and Samuel Alito, about the jury selection process and how seriously we should take it. Being a huge American history nerd, I got goosebump-y on the outside and patriotic-y on the inside, and generally melted into a big puddle of determination that I would do my country right, by God.
The next step was going up another flight of stairs and filing in the courtroom one by one as our names were called. I was Juror 14, the last one to get a big comfy chair in the jury box. The next 14 jurors had to sit on hard pews.
My inner jury selector failed during the next step, when, one at a time, we rose and answered the questions printed on the back of our numbered jury cards (name, where we lived, how long we had lived there, highest level of education, current employment, how long we had worked there, what our job duties were, marital status, spouse's occupation if there was one, number of children, and their ages). There was one woman who very clearly wasn't going to make the cut. She started in the next round, when the questions were general ones to which we held up our numbers if they applied.
The question was, "Have you served on a jury before?"
She held up her card. The judge asked her what kind of trial. She didn't remember. He asked what it was about. She didn't remember, only that it was "really bad." He asked how they, the jury, had decided. She answered that she didn't know.
"I wasn't on the jury."
The next question was if any of us had some general objection, maybe on the basis of religion or personal preference, that would keep us from serving on the jury effectively. She raised her card. He asked for details.
She raised her eyebrows. "I'll tell ya later."
Recess, in which we went back to the doughnuts and (now empty) coffee pot. We had 40 minutes to kill while the lawyers decided our fate. I hadn't said anything particularly enlightening or intelligent, and this jury would only have eight members, not 12, so I had a pretty solid feeling I would be going home soon.
The feeling became more solid when we filed back in and the jurors began to be called. Juror number two was also named Jennifer. There was no way they would have two Jennifers on the jury! Especially not a jury of eight! Then, three out of the first four jurors were women. They wouldn't want a jury full of women!
I was Juror Six. There would be two Jennifers on a jury, after all, perhaps for the first time in history.
Several of the people who had caught my eye in the general pool were on the jury, too, so I consoled myself about missing the signs that I would be chosen by telling myself that the other chosen ones had clearly caught my eye for a reason.
We were given a break for lunch, and the trial started at one. Fast, you say? Definitely. Boring? You bet.
I fell asleep in opening arguments, but woke violently due to the force my head fell forward, snapping me awake. After that, it was easier to stay awake.
The topic was more boring than anything I could have made up in my mind, and it didn't improve. The second witness sounded just like Zach Galifinakis when he did the southern-drawl characters in his repertoire, and that fascination kept my attention sharply-focused through the rest of the afternoon.
The snacks in the jury room were pretty good, and there was more coffee.
Day One was all right.
Day Two brought with it the threat of inclement weather and the promise of a really draggy trial, as the second witness testified for over two more hours.
Mercifully, we braked for lunch again, and I was filled with a bad feeling when the judge, a really likable guy, told us to take a break and "try to come back by one." That meant, in my mind, that we wouldn't be back in the jury room until at least 1:30.
I was a little off. We continued to wait, and I joked that probably they would settle if we just told them to. "Call Steve [court deputy] in here, and tell him we decided they should settle without ever discussing the case amongst ourselves!" I said.
Funny story. That's exactly what they were doing. Steve did come in, along with the judge and his clerky guy, about 15 minutes later, to tell us that very thing. We were not allowed to take our notes with us (a shame, as my predominant note had said "bullshit reasoning" with about six arrows pointing to it).
I took a granola bar for the road, bid my two-day family adieu, and left with my stamped certificate verifying that, for a short time, I had fulfilled my civic duty.
And I don't have to call in for my fourth and final week of rotation. Is it weird that part of me was sad about it?
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Techno, Yo.
Technology is nowhere near Jetsons-level in 2013 (I really wanted that kitchen in which I could punch the button of the menu I wanted and it would be instantly delivered), but it’s still pretty amazing.
Everyone is connected, all the time. Phones are permanently affixed to hands. Everything seems to require a swipe or a click for easy access. Liars and plagiarists can be exposed instantly with a quick trip to Googleland.
I’m as guilty as anyone. I panic if I fall out of Wi-Fi access and am in an area that even my 4G can’t keep up with. We bought a picturesque 26-acre farm piece of property with a pond, but our internet access is horrible, so instead of admiring the sweeping view that looks hand painted by Bob Ross and God combined, I gripe that there is no signal while ignoring the beauty.
There has been so much new technology in the last five years that I couldn’t even begin to tell you all of it. Even looking it up would take more time than I have (because who has time anymore, really?). What I do know is that my life is much more tech-savvy today than it was in 2008, and there is one advance in the last five years that changed my life significantly.
In 2008, my husband and I made our debut as a couple. He is a union boilermaker, and his job keeps him on the road four to five months each year. His busy seasons are in the spring and in the fall. Guess when we started dating?
With him working 12 to 16 hour shifts, in very loud conditions, there weren’t a lot of potentially tender moments for us as a new couple. I knew that I really liked him, but why would I want to date someone I could never see or talk to? I didn’t hate myself THAT much. Plus, I hated talking on the phone. After more than five minutes, my ear would get sweaty and I would start doing other things, rendering my conversation little more than occasional grunts to prove I was still participating.
Then, the technological advance that saved my new relationship: texting. We each bought a 200-per-month text package, knowing that there was no way we could use up that many texts, and within five days, when we had surpassed that number, we upgraded to unlimited.
Suddenly, we could “talk” all we wanted. When he was at work, waiting for the machines to get his area ready for welding, he now had something to do to fill the hours. We could text, and boy, did we text. I got to know him better through text than I could have in countless dinner-and-movie dates.
The more we texted, the more I liked him. Every time we had even the most random thought, we could communicate it in spite of the miles and job. When he did get back home, it seemed like we had known each other forever – in a good way. There were no obstacles.
When I got a new outfit, he wanted to see it. BAM – I sent it to him via picture text. This text-nology was fantastic! I was aware of the internet, and I was aware of this new thing called the iPhone (my sister had one), but I didn’t need any of that. I had everything I needed in my world with this unlimited texting. I thought everyone should have it. I told people how my life had changed since I started texting. I started sneaking my phone with me to work.
I wouldn’t recommend doing that.
Now, in an ironic twist, the very thing that helped catapult my relationship from dating to marriage is probably the same thing that will cause my divorce. Every time my husband is home between jobs, he’s telling me to “put that damn phone down.”
So it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. But even now, five years after I purchased my first text package, it is my preferred way to communicate. I still hate talking on the phone. But give me the ability to type and a device to send my words with, and I’ll be your most available friend.
As long as we don’t have to see each other, that is. I simply don’t have the time.
Everyone is connected, all the time. Phones are permanently affixed to hands. Everything seems to require a swipe or a click for easy access. Liars and plagiarists can be exposed instantly with a quick trip to Googleland.
I’m as guilty as anyone. I panic if I fall out of Wi-Fi access and am in an area that even my 4G can’t keep up with. We bought a picturesque 26-acre farm piece of property with a pond, but our internet access is horrible, so instead of admiring the sweeping view that looks hand painted by Bob Ross and God combined, I gripe that there is no signal while ignoring the beauty.
There has been so much new technology in the last five years that I couldn’t even begin to tell you all of it. Even looking it up would take more time than I have (because who has time anymore, really?). What I do know is that my life is much more tech-savvy today than it was in 2008, and there is one advance in the last five years that changed my life significantly.
In 2008, my husband and I made our debut as a couple. He is a union boilermaker, and his job keeps him on the road four to five months each year. His busy seasons are in the spring and in the fall. Guess when we started dating?
With him working 12 to 16 hour shifts, in very loud conditions, there weren’t a lot of potentially tender moments for us as a new couple. I knew that I really liked him, but why would I want to date someone I could never see or talk to? I didn’t hate myself THAT much. Plus, I hated talking on the phone. After more than five minutes, my ear would get sweaty and I would start doing other things, rendering my conversation little more than occasional grunts to prove I was still participating.
Then, the technological advance that saved my new relationship: texting. We each bought a 200-per-month text package, knowing that there was no way we could use up that many texts, and within five days, when we had surpassed that number, we upgraded to unlimited.
Suddenly, we could “talk” all we wanted. When he was at work, waiting for the machines to get his area ready for welding, he now had something to do to fill the hours. We could text, and boy, did we text. I got to know him better through text than I could have in countless dinner-and-movie dates.
The more we texted, the more I liked him. Every time we had even the most random thought, we could communicate it in spite of the miles and job. When he did get back home, it seemed like we had known each other forever – in a good way. There were no obstacles.
When I got a new outfit, he wanted to see it. BAM – I sent it to him via picture text. This text-nology was fantastic! I was aware of the internet, and I was aware of this new thing called the iPhone (my sister had one), but I didn’t need any of that. I had everything I needed in my world with this unlimited texting. I thought everyone should have it. I told people how my life had changed since I started texting. I started sneaking my phone with me to work.
I wouldn’t recommend doing that.
Now, in an ironic twist, the very thing that helped catapult my relationship from dating to marriage is probably the same thing that will cause my divorce. Every time my husband is home between jobs, he’s telling me to “put that damn phone down.”
So it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. But even now, five years after I purchased my first text package, it is my preferred way to communicate. I still hate talking on the phone. But give me the ability to type and a device to send my words with, and I’ll be your most available friend.
As long as we don’t have to see each other, that is. I simply don’t have the time.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Where's the Romance?
You ever been in a relationship in which there were big, romantic gestures?
I really haven't.
I don't think about it much, but I'm watching How I Met Your Mother, and it's about the Dobler/Dahmer Effect, and that there's a fine line between being romantic and being creepy. It made me think that, as a married chick, there aren't a lot of romantic gestures in my relationship.
I mean the kind like this:
Remember it, ladies? I worshiped at the altar of Lloyd Dobler.
Is it any wonder that, being raised with those kind of fairy tales, women are let down so often in real relationships? How could actual men actually measure up to that kind of standard?
I still wish my husband was into that stuff. Once, before we were really dating, he sent me a giant balloon and roses at work, and I thought, oh yeah, that's right. He's into me.
I was actually wrong. Not about the part in which he was into me, but the part in which I thought that this kind of thing would start happening more often.
About a year later, we were sitting on the couch watching something scintillating like SportsCenter, and he was fiddling with some wire. When he was done with it, he handed it to me, telling me that he had made me a ring for when we got married.
I still have that ring. That's how much of a sap I am.
Fast-forward another year, and we were at Padre Island, sneaking along the shoreline after hours. Right before we got spotlighted and ordered back, he proposed to me.
Ok, never mind. I'm starting to realize that he actually is capable of romantic gestures. I might not have it so bad after all.
Then there was the first time he had to leave after we got married, and left me love notes all over the house in the places I would be sure to find them, such as the dog food canister and the bathroom drawers.
He hasn't done it since, but there are lots of other things.
He watches Parenthood with me because he knows that the cancer story line is hard for me to watch, but that there's no way I'm not going to watch it.
He sends me texts telling me how much he loves me and how lucky he is to have me in his life, and I keep them and read them until he drives me crazy, usually the next day or two, and then I delete them and curse him, but the point is that he sent them.
So, no, he's not this.
But he is this.
And that's totally ok.
I am Defined by my Weight.
I mean, I must be, because I live and die by that scale every day. I consider myself passable or horribly unattractive based on that number. I think about it more than almost anything, including my own kid. I wish that it wasn't true, but it is.
Then, for the last holiday season, my old boss, Tami, got me this great Christmas present. It's a scale that doesn't show your weight! You get on it once, and it records your weight internally. After that, every time you get on the scale, it shows you only the number of what you've gained or lost. It's pretty cool, really. Check it out:
The day I got it, I went home, ate a substantial lunch, left my shoes and heavy watch and coat on, and weighed. I wanted it to record me at the heaviest I could possibly be that day, because I wanted to feel skinnier thereafter. Pretty messed up, huh? And to that end, it's worked. There was only one occasion since that it put me in the plus column, and wow, was that a bad day.
If I would just leave my other scale alone, we might be fine. But no, I'm such a slave to the scale that I have another one in my bathroom. The old-school kind, that shows you what you actually weigh. And when I don't think one is right, I refer to the other. Then I choose the one that was kinder to me that day. My husband always tells me he's throwing the scales away. He tells me that I will probably always weigh in the same 10-12 pound range and that I will always want to lose five pounds. He's right, of course. I don't dispute his logic. It doesn't mean I'm going to change.
I also religiously record what I eat to hold myself accountable. And as rigid as I am, as unyielding with weighing every single day and recording what I eat all the time, I still have a weight that is maintaining at five to seven pounds more than what I weighed two years ago. For some reason, I think that what I weighed two years ago should be what I weigh for the rest of my life. That was the weight I was at for a really long time. I can't think that aging and possibly slowing metabolism and not exercising as much as I should could possibly be causes of this weight gain. It's important to have goals, you know? And mine is to weigh that magic number. Yet week after week, I fail.
I could blame my thirteen or so boards on Pinterest that are devoted to food. I could blame the subreddits I subscribe to on Reddit (foodporn, baking, food) or the fact that I follow FoodPorn religiously on Twitter. I could blame the box in my closet full of Reese's peanut butter cups from Christmas.
But really what it comes down to is that I'm a creature of habit. I've been weight-obsessed since I was 13. I don't see it changing anytime soon.
Seriously, though, you should really check out Pinterest if you love food. It's a moderate addiction of mine. Occasionally, I'll even make some of the stuff, but for the most part I just stare at it while my husband is in the background telling me that he's going to throw that damn phone away and what am I always doing on it, anyway? *sigh* I just love food. And my scale.
Then, for the last holiday season, my old boss, Tami, got me this great Christmas present. It's a scale that doesn't show your weight! You get on it once, and it records your weight internally. After that, every time you get on the scale, it shows you only the number of what you've gained or lost. It's pretty cool, really. Check it out:
If I would just leave my other scale alone, we might be fine. But no, I'm such a slave to the scale that I have another one in my bathroom. The old-school kind, that shows you what you actually weigh. And when I don't think one is right, I refer to the other. Then I choose the one that was kinder to me that day. My husband always tells me he's throwing the scales away. He tells me that I will probably always weigh in the same 10-12 pound range and that I will always want to lose five pounds. He's right, of course. I don't dispute his logic. It doesn't mean I'm going to change.
I also religiously record what I eat to hold myself accountable. And as rigid as I am, as unyielding with weighing every single day and recording what I eat all the time, I still have a weight that is maintaining at five to seven pounds more than what I weighed two years ago. For some reason, I think that what I weighed two years ago should be what I weigh for the rest of my life. That was the weight I was at for a really long time. I can't think that aging and possibly slowing metabolism and not exercising as much as I should could possibly be causes of this weight gain. It's important to have goals, you know? And mine is to weigh that magic number. Yet week after week, I fail.
I could blame my thirteen or so boards on Pinterest that are devoted to food. I could blame the subreddits I subscribe to on Reddit (foodporn, baking, food) or the fact that I follow FoodPorn religiously on Twitter. I could blame the box in my closet full of Reese's peanut butter cups from Christmas.
Seriously, though, you should really check out Pinterest if you love food. It's a moderate addiction of mine. Occasionally, I'll even make some of the stuff, but for the most part I just stare at it while my husband is in the background telling me that he's going to throw that damn phone away and what am I always doing on it, anyway? *sigh* I just love food. And my scale.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
I'm a Fan, and I Don't Care Who Knows.
I didn't like being bald, but I was. Maybe it was because I was a girl. Maybe it was because it was really cold that winter when my hair fell out and, with it, the last bit of pretense that this wasn't happening to me. Bald or not, I had cancer. And, thank God, I had insurance. Two months prior to my diagnosis, I did not.
In my mind, people really didn't have to have insurance in their thirties. What were the odds I would be in a serious car accident? Prior to having insurance, I worked and lived in the same town. I barely drove anywhere. And I liked to think that, if my house caught fire, I would be able-bodied enough to hot-foot it out of there ahead of the flames.
Who am I kidding? I didn't think about that at all. I didn't think about any of it, because, come on, I was in my thirties and, I thought, ridiculously healthy.
But then, the lump. But then, the surgery. But then, the news that I never believed I would hear.
I had no history of breast cancer in my family. I had never smoked. I had never taken birth control. And I was 35. Thank God for the insurance, because, in case you hadn't heard, cancer is expensive. What if, though, my husband's company changes insurance carriers? Then my cancer becomes a pre-existing condition, and I won’t qualify for cancer coverage under the new carrier. Period.
So when I first started hearing rumblings of what is known around these parts as "Obamacare" I was equal parts intrigued and apprehensive. I was apprehensive because I truly didn’t believe that anyone was going to reform our healthcare system anytime soon. I was intrigued because somebody wanted to. I was cynical because I believed that this “reform” was going to be lobbyist-driven. So I did what any skeptical person should do (oh, but that they would). I read it. I read the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. It’s a dry read, make no mistake. And it’s a long read. And I’d be lying if I said I absorbed every single word. It doesn’t matter. Nothing is perfect, but this is a big step toward repairing what once seemed an irretrievably broken system. Under the Act, cancer will no longer be a pre-existing condition for me if my insurance carrier changes. I will not lose my cancer coverage.
Although I have to wait until 2014, that’s better than waiting until hell freezes over. As with anything, there are pros and cons in the Affordable Care Act, but that’s another debate for another day. The point is that countless people with pre-existing conditions (not just cancer, but diabetes, heart disease, even asthma) won’t have to come up with the money to pay medical bills related to those illnesses. Don’t get me wrong, they’ll still get hammered with co-pays and deductibles, plus the percentage of coverage that falls to them, but THEY WILL STILL HAVE COVERAGE.
That’s huge. I haven’t tallied my total expenses from my cancer diagnosis and subsequent surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments, but I started to. And I stopped once they hit $100,000. To think that I only ended up with 20 percent of that is a huge relief, even as the bills keep flooding in, almost two years after treatment. There is follow-up care, you see. There are regular check-ups, there are tests, there are all sorts of reasons that cancer and I still meet, long after the remission clock started ticking last year. We’re going to be linked for the rest of my life. Although my hair came back and the baldness is just a memory now, I still have post-chemo curls. I still have the scars from the surgeries, and from the port. I still write the checks to keep up with the debt, and I still have the bill collectors calling me when I can’t.
There are plenty of reasons to be bitter about cancer. So things like this so-called “Obamacare” are what I grasp at instead – reasons to be happy. They’re small victories, but ultimately I hope to be here when the war against insurance is won. I didn’t like being bald, but I was. And it’s a good thing, too, because it expanded my awareness to problems that big insurance didn’t want politicians to see.
I’m glad one refused to close his eyes.
In my mind, people really didn't have to have insurance in their thirties. What were the odds I would be in a serious car accident? Prior to having insurance, I worked and lived in the same town. I barely drove anywhere. And I liked to think that, if my house caught fire, I would be able-bodied enough to hot-foot it out of there ahead of the flames.
Who am I kidding? I didn't think about that at all. I didn't think about any of it, because, come on, I was in my thirties and, I thought, ridiculously healthy.
But then, the lump. But then, the surgery. But then, the news that I never believed I would hear.
I had no history of breast cancer in my family. I had never smoked. I had never taken birth control. And I was 35. Thank God for the insurance, because, in case you hadn't heard, cancer is expensive. What if, though, my husband's company changes insurance carriers? Then my cancer becomes a pre-existing condition, and I won’t qualify for cancer coverage under the new carrier. Period.
So when I first started hearing rumblings of what is known around these parts as "Obamacare" I was equal parts intrigued and apprehensive. I was apprehensive because I truly didn’t believe that anyone was going to reform our healthcare system anytime soon. I was intrigued because somebody wanted to. I was cynical because I believed that this “reform” was going to be lobbyist-driven. So I did what any skeptical person should do (oh, but that they would). I read it. I read the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. It’s a dry read, make no mistake. And it’s a long read. And I’d be lying if I said I absorbed every single word. It doesn’t matter. Nothing is perfect, but this is a big step toward repairing what once seemed an irretrievably broken system. Under the Act, cancer will no longer be a pre-existing condition for me if my insurance carrier changes. I will not lose my cancer coverage.
Although I have to wait until 2014, that’s better than waiting until hell freezes over. As with anything, there are pros and cons in the Affordable Care Act, but that’s another debate for another day. The point is that countless people with pre-existing conditions (not just cancer, but diabetes, heart disease, even asthma) won’t have to come up with the money to pay medical bills related to those illnesses. Don’t get me wrong, they’ll still get hammered with co-pays and deductibles, plus the percentage of coverage that falls to them, but THEY WILL STILL HAVE COVERAGE.
That’s huge. I haven’t tallied my total expenses from my cancer diagnosis and subsequent surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments, but I started to. And I stopped once they hit $100,000. To think that I only ended up with 20 percent of that is a huge relief, even as the bills keep flooding in, almost two years after treatment. There is follow-up care, you see. There are regular check-ups, there are tests, there are all sorts of reasons that cancer and I still meet, long after the remission clock started ticking last year. We’re going to be linked for the rest of my life. Although my hair came back and the baldness is just a memory now, I still have post-chemo curls. I still have the scars from the surgeries, and from the port. I still write the checks to keep up with the debt, and I still have the bill collectors calling me when I can’t.
There are plenty of reasons to be bitter about cancer. So things like this so-called “Obamacare” are what I grasp at instead – reasons to be happy. They’re small victories, but ultimately I hope to be here when the war against insurance is won. I didn’t like being bald, but I was. And it’s a good thing, too, because it expanded my awareness to problems that big insurance didn’t want politicians to see.
I’m glad one refused to close his eyes.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
So, I think my eyes are bleeding.
I got a little lazy in the last eight months or so, and I'm not afraid to admit it. In those eight months, since I graduated, I got used to bumming around, doing nothing more strenuous than playing softball and seeing how many Pinterest boards I could rack up (I think it's in the low 30's range, with roughly 29 of them being food-based boards. But I digress).
Then I felt my brain turning to mush (ever felt that? It's unpleasant) and decided that I was going to make this push to go back to school and start my master's degree. I love to learn, right? So this must be my thing, this grad school gig. I even got a coveted job as a graduate assistant to make it all really good and official-ly. That's not a word. Obviously I have a long way to go.
The point is, I went from this:
to this.
And now my head is pounding and my eyes feel like maybe they'd bleed, except they're too dry, and my back hurts from sitting here staring at the book and I'm pretty sure I have fifteen minutes to understand it before class starts and I have to discuss it. I really miss my pictures of food. But then I remind myself how mentally out of shape and complacent I felt when I was just looking at pictures of food, much less how physically out of shape I felt eating said foods, because you bet your ass I tried to make a lot of them, and, yes, it was a challenge, but not a challenge like trying to get through some Smolla. The words are beautifully written. They're just really, really hard to keep reading after a page.
As far as the new job, well, it's great. I got to do my first four mock interviews this week, and I really like it. If only I could finalize the shift from mush brain to super brain with a little more ease, things would be great. Until then, I'm going to need some dessert to get me through this three hour class I have in - now 12 - minutes. This should be interesting. Feel free to send me your favorite pictures of food, and happy Peanut Butter Day, fellow lovers!
Then I felt my brain turning to mush (ever felt that? It's unpleasant) and decided that I was going to make this push to go back to school and start my master's degree. I love to learn, right? So this must be my thing, this grad school gig. I even got a coveted job as a graduate assistant to make it all really good and official-ly. That's not a word. Obviously I have a long way to go.
The point is, I went from this:
And now my head is pounding and my eyes feel like maybe they'd bleed, except they're too dry, and my back hurts from sitting here staring at the book and I'm pretty sure I have fifteen minutes to understand it before class starts and I have to discuss it. I really miss my pictures of food. But then I remind myself how mentally out of shape and complacent I felt when I was just looking at pictures of food, much less how physically out of shape I felt eating said foods, because you bet your ass I tried to make a lot of them, and, yes, it was a challenge, but not a challenge like trying to get through some Smolla. The words are beautifully written. They're just really, really hard to keep reading after a page.
As far as the new job, well, it's great. I got to do my first four mock interviews this week, and I really like it. If only I could finalize the shift from mush brain to super brain with a little more ease, things would be great. Until then, I'm going to need some dessert to get me through this three hour class I have in - now 12 - minutes. This should be interesting. Feel free to send me your favorite pictures of food, and happy Peanut Butter Day, fellow lovers!
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