Gymno

2011-10-12T21:29:00.001-07:00

Self-preservation

The boy and I spent a lovely two weeks galavanting all over Europe this summer (yes, I'm horribly spoiled. Consider me appropriately guilt-ridden). Part of that time was spent with our mothers, who, predictably, directly and indirectly tried to figure out our 'intentions.' Which, one night, landed the two of us in a conversation about the future. I, wisely (maybe I'm not always humble) suggested that we should have such talks because we wanted to, not because our mothers pressured us into them. But the net result was that we figured we'll probably be about ready to move in together around the time my lease is up next spring. Since then, we've both fallen into the habit of referencing that as if it's a foregone conclusion - well, when we live together we should...well, next spring we should...don't get me wrong, we're in a good place, and it makes sense that we're making such plans. But my self-preservation gene keeps piping up to say, well, if...don't get your hopes up!...maybe...

After three decades (ok, realistically, only a little over a decade of actual dating) my inclination toward self-preservation is quite finely honed. I'm going to have some work to do over the next several months (years? forever?) quieting it down so I can see a good thing staring me in the face. And this is a good thing.

2011-08-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

That was then

The summer between my second and third years of grad school I slipped down the rabbit hole. That’s how I’ve come to refer to the period I spent struggling with anxiety, following my last qualifying exam. That period was well documented here, in real time. But the short(-ish) version is that about a month before my last exam, I started having more frequent panic attacks and bouts of insomnia. Given that I’ve always tended toward physical manifestations of stress, I sort of shrugged it off and figured I was about right on schedule.

Things were pretty bad by the time the exam actually came up, but at that point I was expecting everything to go back to normal as soon as I handed in the test. Except it didn’t. Things got progressively worse – more frequent panic attacks, until I essentially never felt like I was breathing comfortably, incessant insomnia, vertigo, hypochondria, and the growing sensation that I was losing my mind. By the end of the summer I sought help and by the following year I was sufficiently on the mend yet enamored with therapy and stuck with it for a few years, really digging into things. In the end, it was great.

But I remember very distinctly, a few months, or maybe several months, into therapy, worrying that I was permanently broken. Feeling like I was broken. And the main worry was, how can I ever trust myself to handle this level of stress again? I was specifically worrying about my defense, still a few years out, but surely, I imagined, tougher than what I had just come through, and how was I going to manage that without falling apart again?

This is now

I got through my defense, with barely a mental health hiccup. Don’t get me wrong – it was tough and stressful, but by then I was more than back to fighting weight. Because that’s the amazing thing about doing all the work in therapy – you can’t imagine it’s possible when you’re in it, but not only do you get better, you get even better. Stronger.

I mention this now because I’m just back from easily the most stressful couple of weeks of my life. Makes everything in grad school seem like a cakewalk. Ok, the grad school stuff, inaccurately, had more emotional hooks attached, but objectively, the last couple of weeks have had far higher real world stakes.

And I was in a bad way – got myself into that mental space where I feel all flat and even though I know better, I completely lost the ability to do anything good for myself – stopped exercising, stopped meditating. Hell – I stopped masturbating! I was so low on serotonin that I burst into tears on a nearly daily basis*.

But. I got the work done. And I wasn’t anywhere near the edge of any holes, rabbit or otherwise. Indeed, I didn’t even think about my history of anxiety until I had been back for a few days. I didn’t like the stress, but I didn’t fear it either. And I managed it. Ok, perhaps not with aplomb. But with utility.

And I came back to a partner to whom I can say, I just need to curl up in my pajamas tonight. I don’t have the strength to leave the house tonight. I just need you to be nice to me. I’m in a really bad mental space right now. It’s going to take me a few days to recover. And he wraps his arms around me and is kind and patient and doesn’t judge or freak out when I tear up after sex and just need to be held for a bit.

I did the work to get here –to be mentally strong enough to withstand the stress and emotionally aware enough to recognize my limits as I’m rushing toward them and present enough to appreciate and be with a true partner. It’s work well worth doing, and well worth pausing to appreciate.

*clearly, I don't want to have, nor should I have, the sort of job that makes me cry everyday. This was a narrow, special set of circumstances, but I'll also be taking steps to avoid repeating it in the future.

2011-08-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

Bring on the tears

Crying is a bit of 'thing' with me. I've never seen a member of my immediate family do more than barely tear up (even at funerals and other equally emotional events) and crying was forbidden at gymnastics (the coach would yell, "Are you hurt?" and if the answer was no, the response was "Well then get yourself off the floor and get cleaned up."). So for most of my life I learned that crying was something you either didn't do, or if you absolutely couldn't prevent it, you did it somewhere in private. So now I'm virtually physically incapable of crying in front of someone. Even if I'm in actual physical pain, rarely will there be tears. And on those rare occasions, the act of crying in front of someone tends to freak me out way more than whatever sparked the tears in the first place.

And yet, crying is a tremendous, often wonderful, release. I tend to need a good cry when I'm stressed out, burned out, or otherwise worn thin (as I am increasingly often these days). So it's a shame that the impulse comes with such, well, shame.

Lo and behold, on a day when I needed a good cry, Dr. Isis, researcher extraordinaire, offered up these words of wisdom

The point is, sometimes some of us get overwhelmed and cry. Sometimes it's because of something in our personal lives. Sometimes it's because of something at work. Some of us are criers and some of us aren't. Sometimes we succeed and sometimes we fail. And when we fail or get overwhelmed, it's fine to sit down and cry about it. As long as you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back to it afterward.

In comments someone else quotes Tina Fey: "Some people say 'Never let them see you cry.' I say, if you're so mad you could just cry, then cry. It terrifies everyone." I think it's that last part that I particularly dislike. People, and let's be honest, more often than not, male people, tend to freak out at the sight of a woman crying. And I know that plays at least some part in my reticence to just let it out - when a woman cries, in my experience, a man will do just about anything to get her to stop. And so the act of crying feels manipulative, like an ace up the sleeve, like some gross way to win an argument instead of just an honest release of pent up emotion.

Sigh. I'm glad Dr. Isis gave me permission to cry it out today. Maybe someday we can all have a better relationship to this unpleasant display that we're all in need of from time to time.

2011-05-30T00:20:00.000-07:00

Talking about him

I have a lingering issue around talking about my boyfriend. Becky and I spent hours (hours!) bringing me around to the crazy notion that it is not only acceptable but perfectly normal to want a boyfriend (I prefer the term partner; boyfriend reminds me too much of the terrible teenage years). But I still get all weird and self-conscious talking about him. Nevermind that we're approaching our one year anniversary. Nevermind that things are going swimmingly. I'm still carrying around this baggage.

M won a teaching award (because he's awesome) and at the ceremony last week they asked spouses or partners of awardees to stand. I hesitantly, awkwardly, half-stood and turned bright red.

While out for drinks with mutual friends tonight I a) talked about him and am now replaying all those conversations in my head, wondering, did I talk about him too much? Was I annoying? and b) was reminded just how lucky I am to be with him (my own neuroses aside). The other two women I was out with were commiserating over awkward first dates, men with whom you feel a spark vs. men with whom you don't, navigating those awkward second and third dates, and how often you only get a second, or, if rather lucky, a third date. I was chipping in with my own stories, but they rapidly shushed me. I don't get to tell crappy date stories anymore, I'm with M, thus negating the various trials and tribulations it took to get here.

Which is fine. I probably would do (have done) the same. But I came home and started to compose a sappy e-mail to M (who is out of town) expressing how lucky I am - that I know that, and recognize it daily, but was particularly reminded of it tonight. Saying thanks, being generally sort of lovey. And I stopped. Deleted it. Won't send it. Because I know I'm a bit tipsy. And as such my emotions are more accessible...but come morning I'll be all embarrassed and distant again.

One year in and I'm embarrassed to send a love note to my boyfriend?

Guess I have more work to do.

Thank goodness he's patient.

2011-04-17T00:29:00.000-07:00

30==awesome*

So I'm in wine country, in a ridiculous villa, with 16 other women. Which is awesome, in no small part thanks to the fact that these women are awesome.

We just spent an entire day drinking, in the way that you do in wine country. And there were conflicting interests and desires and priorities and people navigated all of it in this really impressive way. There were compromises to be made and people didn't always get what they wanted. But no one ever stewed or pouted and everyone communicated about what it was they wanted and why they were upset or had a certain preference or wanted a certain thing. And at the end of the day, not everyone got just what they wanted, but we all got a lovely day, and, as far as I can tell, no one got their feelings hurt and everything progressed quite smoothly.

I'm not sure how much of it is just because I've been around a group of people who seem to handle such situations poorly (lots of emotional landmines in my current extended friend group) and they happen to all be in their 20s, but I genuinely do think a lot of today's experience is thanks to the fact that all the women here are 30+.

I know I was pretty psyched about my 30th birthday. And I feel like I did a lot of important work and growing up in my late 20s. So I'm sure I'm biased - but I can't help but look around at these women and think how lovely it is to be around women in their 30s who have their shit together and seem so comfortable with who they are. Lots of them are still figuring things out - jobs, boyfriends, life. But they have this attitude, this sense that they've figured themselves** out, and you can take or leave what they have to offer, but here it is.

It is so honest and clear and refreshing. I had practically forgotten that I was missing it.

Mel and I talked last night about how a fundamental component, for us, of being a grown-up is choosing your friends. There are enough situations (i.e., work) where you have to make nice with people you don't actually like. In your personal life, when possible, it's your prerogative to spend as much time as possible with people with whom you enjoy spending time. So there's an inherent selection bias, since Mel is quite good at culling her friend group back to only include people who are genuine and genuinely awesome.

But I'm awfully glad she's like that, and I'm happy to be reaping the benefits with this lovely weekend with these amazing women. 30+ is awesome.

* yes, I'm generalizing from a few anecdotes. yes, as a statistician I should know better. gonna do it anyway.
**of course, there are exceptions to this. I like anyone who has managed to figure themselves out, and there are plenty of people in every age category who manage that. but I think this is the highest density of such people I've encountered in a long time, and they all happen to be over 30

2011-03-10T21:21:00.000-08:00

What a difference a year makes

Noticing on my calendar that VT’s birthday is next week, I started reminiscing back to her last birthday, celebrated at Andrés Carne de Res in Bogotá. Back then I thought I was going to come back to the states to discuss using the b- and g-words with Elliot, who I was dating at the time. Instead, I came back to discover we had had a fight that I didn’t know about while I was gone. (it would take another two weeks to officially end things)

That trip was the beginning of Megan’s ridiculous travel in ’10. Slightly more than two weeks spent in Bog and DC, then the entire month of April at home before it all really began – NYC, Guatemala City, Atlanta, Charleston, back to Bogotá, Vancouver, back to DC, Boston, New Haven, Pittsburgh, Dublin, Belfast, DC (again), back to Pittsburgh, back to Charleston, Bogotá (again), Vegas, back to NYC, DC (again). The boss really wasn’t kidding when in January of last year he looked at me and said, “I see you on airplanes this year.”

I’m not complaining. I mean, damn. I may have fallen short of my goal of doubling my countries visited within 12 months of starting this job (for those keeping track at home, I graduated from Emory with 7 countries under my belt (Canada, Mexico, Germany, France, Italy, Vatican City (it counts!), Ireland) and have since added another five (Guatemala, Colombia, South Korea, Nepal, Northern Ireland (also counts!)). But that list of cities is ridiculous. As is my premier executive frequent flier status.

With the exception of weekend trips taken by car, I’ve mostly stayed put in ’11, and I’m certainly not complaining about that either. I love the travel, and it’s definitely a perk of the job, but a bit of moderation would be deeply appreciated.

Not to mention, as A told me years ago, when one finds oneself so pleasantly partnered up, one suddenly becomes much more interested in staying put.

2011-03-09T21:20:00.000-08:00

Dysmorphia

Ok, not really (for those who followed the link). Maybe this instead

Body Image (Part II)

As I've said before, I work pretty hard at liking this body of mine. And most of the time, I think of myself as generally succeeding. But today was something of a wake up call regarding how I see myself. This wake up call was, perhaps, percolating for a while.

Example A - I have a regular disagreement with my mother every time she tries to get me to shop in the petite section of any store. Mom, I say, I'm not petite. I am short, but I am not petite. I have an athlete's shoulders and thighs and I am not diminutive or small or any other word related to petite.

Example B - the boy bought me a t-shirt for xmas (this one, to be precise, because he's awesome), size medium. Aw, I thought, that's sweet, but there's no way this is going to fit. And yet, it does.

I think that I like my body shape and size pretty ok, and yet I loathe the sensation of pulling on clothes in the dressing room and getting caught somewhere because something (a bicep, my ass, the breadth of my shoulders or ribcage) is too large. So, apparently, I consistently err on the side of a larger size.

This realization slowly dawned on me today as I spent three hours going through my closet with the help of the StyleKouncil (who are awesome and kind). Apparently, virtually everything I own is between one and four sizes too big. Kelly kept grabbing fistfulls of material to demonstrate just how much larger all my clothing is than my actual body. There were some therapy-like moments when I confronted my discomfort with showing off a silouette.

Is this a backlash against all those years spent in lycra? Is this classic body image stuff? I'm not sure. What I am, now, sure of is that the size I picture in my head, and that I apparently see in the mirror, is rather shockingly inaccurate.

2011-03-08T21:55:00.001-08:00

Mean Girls

(I may have told this story before. I'm too lazy to do an exhaustive search of the archives)

In the process of thanking a friend (hi VT!) for indulging my impulses to tell sappy stories about my boyfriend, I reminisced about the mean girls on my gymnastics team. It may be unfair to blame them for all of my intimacy/vulnerability baggage, but they were certainly a key contributing factor. The pertinent stories revolve around Jared, an out-of-town boy who joined the team when we were all 14 or 15 years old. Everyone had a crush on him, in that way that I can recognize now as hormonal and adolescent and inevitable. But at the time. Damn. At the time, it was the most intense thing I had ever experienced. I didn't know what to do with myself.

Which, equally inevitably, led to humiliation. Two of the girls on my gymnastics team also happened to go to my high school. We weren't really friends at school, traveled mostly in different circles. But one day at lunch one of these girls overheard me gushing about my new crush to my actual friends. Evidently, I said his name 34 times. Yes, I remember this detail. Because later that week, at the gym, they told him. And he took the cassette case for my floor music and carefully wrote his name on it, 34 times.

The other story happened at one of our numerous team slumber parties. These same two girls took me aside to confide that they had heard that Jared thought I was hot. More specifically, that he thought I had "the hottest body on the team, but the least attractive face." I remember awkwardly trying to laugh it off, pretend I couldn't possibly care less what he thought of me (at the time it never would have occurred to me that these two girls were making things up to be mean to me).

I recognize both these stories now for the cruelty that they were. But then all I saw was how weak and wrong and foolish I had been. Never again (ok, not for another 15 years or so) would I be so careless as to feel so much.

Which is heartbreaking, right? I mean, sure, adolescence sucks. But one of the few bright spots is that sort of reckless emotional abandon. We should be so lucky to feel so much.

I'm not writing this for sympathy or to fish for compliments. These things happened a long time ago. But it's a therapy thing - telling these stories, owning the pain they caused. Until today I only told them to one or two other people, but keeping them secret means letting them continue to be embarrassing. Fourteen year old me doesn't need to be embarrassed for liking a boy with reckless abandon. Thirty year old me should tell these stories. Those girls were mean.

2011-02-13T13:39:00.000-08:00

Food == Love

The boy cooks for me pretty regularly - we have a good system worked out wherein I buy groceries and he turns them into food. This is a particularly good system since I have more disposable income and he can actually cook. By now this has taken on the flavor of routine rather than romance. But this past week I was a bit under the weather, just enough to be whiny, and he showed up mid-week to make mac-n-cheese (with bacon!) and brownies. He had also cooked the previous weekend and by Thursday I realized that the majority of my meals that week had been provided, either directly or in the form of leftovers, by him. Then it occurred to me that I haven't felt this well-cared for since I lived with AWB.

Meet-cute

We were at a birthday party last night, and one of the party games involved sitting quietly while the people who know you introduce you to the rest of the room. I sort of flubbed the boy's introduction - I get nervous and awkward about public declarations of romantic feelings (surprising, I know). But the boy did a lovely job:

I met Megan at our friends' wedding, but we've since reconstructed that we were probably introduced at a handful of parties before then. Then she came to a baseball game with a group of us, showed up for my roommate's birthday party a week early, then came to the actual birthday party. Then she asked me out. On our second date she was sitting on the back of my bike when some girls crossed the street in front of us wearing uggs. I asked, "You...you don't own uggs, do you?" She said, "No! You...you don't wear crocs, do you?" It's been working out pretty well since then. Oh, and she has a PhD in statistics, which I think is very sexy.

2011-02-10T19:49:00.000-08:00

Choice

I was reminded of Margaret Olivia Little's brilliant writing on abortion (and went and looked up my old post about it) by Ta-Nehisi Coates' moving post about the labor involved in bringing a person into the world. First, a highlight from Little - "What we need in thinking about abortion is a moral approach that does justice to the ethics of intimacy; what we have is a moral approach that rarely uses the word." And now Coates:

Like most people, I have deep problems with the termination of life--and that is what I believe abortion to be. Still a decade ago, I learned that those problems were abstract, and could not stand against something as tangible and imposing as death.

My embrace of a pro-choice stance is not built on analogizing Rick Santorum with Hitler. It is not built on what the pro-life movement is "like." It's built on set of disturbing and inelidable truths: My son is the joy of my life. But the work of ushering him into this world nearly killed his mother. The literalism of that last point can not be escaped.

Every day women choose to do the hard labor of a difficult pregnancy. Its courageous work, which inspires in me a degree of admiration exceeded only by my horror at the notion of the state turning that courage, that hard labor, into a mandate. Women die performing that labor in smaller numbers as we advance, but they die all the same. Men do not. That is a privilege.

As I've said before, the rhetoric underlying my pro-choice stance has evolved, and crystallized somewhat unproductively following a friend's tragedy, but thankfully Little and Coates (and others) keep articulating that abortion is so much more complicated than the false dichotomy that keeps getting presented by our politicians and our media.

I wish we lived in a society where it was safe to challenge our own thinking a little more and yell at each other a little less. But as family planning and women's health keeps coming under attack, there seems to be little room for complexity, subtlety, or thoughtfulness.

2011-01-03T17:45:00.001-08:00

Jargon

I have a love/hate relationship with jargon. On the one hand, I appreciate the very precise meanings of the technical words in my field. They aren't just a shorthand to increase the efficiency of communication between members of my field (though they are sometimes that as well). In many cases, synonyms for these words don't exist. I could write out several sentences to explain these words, but often that's actually less clear than the word itself.

On the other hand, I firmly believe that it doesn't matter how good your idea is if you can't explain yourself. All too often researchers hide behind jargon to intentionally prevent their audience from fully understanding their ideas (think of every thesis or dissertation defense you've ever seen).

I agree that it is both difficult and vital to be able to boil complicated ideas down into an understandable form. But where do we draw the line in imagining the audience we want to be able to understand us? We often refer to a 'lay' or 'non-technical' audience. But when did this become a synonym for a lazy audience?

I'm in the process of writing/editing a book chapter, describing a very complicated statistical technique. My understanding is that the audience for this chapter is people who may not have advanced math skills, but are conducting research which might benefit from this technique - i.e., attempting to count things that are difficult to count. I know I'm biased here, but I honestly believe that the clarity of the chapter is increased by the use of mathematical notation. Of course, I will define and fully explain all the funny little subscripts and superscripts (there aren't even any Greek letters!). But this method is complicated, and it is often described inaccurately, using examples and words that approximate the method but hide its subtleties. And as a result misunderstandings, misapplications, and misinterpretations run rampant. So I want to be clear. And accurate. And I need to use math to do that.

So is it completely unreasonable that when the editors indicate that people will stop reading as soon as they hit a section with math I think, well, they shouldn't be using this method anyway? And if they're serious about the research we're all alleging to do (trying to count things that are hard to count) shouldn't they be willing to grit their teeth through a few equations? Am I asking too much?

2010-12-18T14:34:00.000-08:00

I'm a pretty firm believer that what we go through at airports is security theater, and I know there are plenty of examples of all the things that have managed to slip past TSA (like this one), but seriously people - what the fuck are we doing? Although obviously the government isn't broadcasting the real results, some reports allege that between 70% and 100% of random tests of airport screeners are successful (meaning the covert government agent gets through security with a 'test gun, bomb part or knife.').

2010-12-02T11:17:00.000-08:00

Warm

One of the things I'm watching play itself out in my current relationship is my Mom's lack of emotional availability. It's hardly Mom's fault - as the child of an abusive alcoholic, you would form a hard little shell around yourself too. She and I have always had a friendly relationship. I enjoy spending time with her, talking with her. But as I've said before, I don't have a lot of strong memories of getting a lot of comfort* from her. She's friendly, but not particularly warm. Even as her kid, you can tell she's got you at arm's length.

I think (I hope!) that I manage to avoid duplicating that behavior with my friends. I feel extremely close and affectionate in my platonic relationships. But I can feel myself slipping into an old, negative emotional habit with my boyfriend. He makes eye contact from across the table, in that close, we're together kind of way that people do when they care a lot about each other. And I glance down and get uncomfortable.

Partially it's my own history - ten years of self-preservation by nursing a wicked independent streak. Keeping men at arm's length means it hurts less when they don't want to be your boyfriend. Or at least, so I nearly convinced myself.

But my family history plays a part too. I know all these things, can recognize them happening. And in my head, when the boy and I are apart, I get all warm and fuzzy with my scary, vulnerable, affectionate feelings. Now I need to get better at playing them out when he's actually right there in front of me.

*I have to say that one upside to this was her calm, detached reaction to my several childhood injuries. Sure, it would have been nice to dissolve into tears in a warm Mom hug whenever I hurt myself. But I think I was spared quite a bit of potential trauma by the fact that Mom never seemed even the slightest bit freaked out when I turned up bloody, bruised, or swollen. I had some pretty visually arresting mishaps as a kid too - managed to get a little plastic soldier stuck in my foot, dislocated a couple of fingers. And she was always unphazed.

2010-12-01T22:25:00.000-08:00

The price of a dream job

I try not to complain. I realize how lucky I am. And I try to appreciate the good things - the meaningful work, the interesting problems, the flexibility and independence. And most days, the fun-to-shit ratio, as my father would say, is overwhelmingly in the right direction. And then there are days like today. Days when my boss is far away, in another country, several time zones away. And a partner is demanding urgent input from him before they will budge on a time-sensitive project. Days when co-workers seems incapable of managing deadlines. Days when all the shit seems to hit the fan at once, and apparently I am the only one with a rag.

On those days, the ratio is rather decidedly in the wrong direction. I know this is the part where I'm supposed to recognize that there are jobs where everyday is like that. But my average day at work is probably somewhere around a 7 or 8 out of 10 and today was a negative 5. So I'm going to pout and sulk and be grumpy about it. This is the tail end of an exhausting sprint and my tank is empty. I'm out of benefits of the doubt and lookings on the bright side. I'm just out.

2010-11-29T18:21:00.000-08:00

I have to say, the outpouring of creative responses to our latest travel options (radiation vs. groping - I'm happy to report I dodged both on my most recent trips through airports) has almost (almost) renewed my faith in US citizens. Also, it's important to keep in mind that the poor TSA employees, while I'm sure a few are assholes (just like the rest of us), are merely the messengers for Homeland Security.

2010-11-29T10:59:00.001-08:00

Quiet

Not only do I write less here, I'm finding that I talk less out in the real world. Me. The kid whose friends' parents used to joke that they were looking for my off switch. Pretty much up through high school my mouth went nonstop, at a mile a minute. I even occasionally talk in my sleep!

So it's kind of weird to find myself growing quieter. In some ways, I think it's a good thing - I'm more reflective, and certainly not needing to share every single thought I have is an indication of me growing up, out growing (finally!) some of my little sister tendencies. And some of it is context - even though it's been 18 months, I'm still living in a new city with a new group of friends, who have their own common back story that doesn't include me.

But sometimes I don't like this new quieter me. I find myself considering my words, weighing all the background and context I would need to fill out to make some story make sense, and choosing instead to not say anything at all. That seems pretty out of character for me.

I know the old me is still in there - when Jess and I got together earlier this month her poor boyfriend could hardly get a word in between the two of us. And I still get animated and excited and start talking too loud about certain topics. But I'm finding those moments fewer and further between. And more shadowed in doubt in hindsight.

Sigh. Every time I settle somewhere new I have to start the process over again of living 'with the top off,' as Becky calls it. I have a tendency to tamp myself down, to take up less space, make more room for others. And I know, theoretically, that I'm in an ideal place to be as big and loud and excited about ideas and life in general as I truly am in my head. And yet...and yet. Here I am, growing quieter.

2010-11-29T10:03:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday to Me

Apparently BBC4 will be showing The Joy of Stats on my birthday!

2010-11-15T14:06:00.001-08:00

To Do List Free Days and Turning 30

Technically, I haven't been fulfilling my new year's pledge to do one TDLF day a month. But, it turns out that having a boyfriend means relatively frequently foregoing the to do list. Which, at least in my case, is a good thing. A very good thing.

As reyn points out in his comment below, I've been a little quiet on the boy front. As most of you probably know, or could have guessed, this whole boyfriend thing is a little weird for me. I haven't called someone that since Dan. Which just goes to show how long one can cruise along, quite dysfunctional, before one gets her shit together.

And get it together I have*. I feel like this place - dream job, dream city, dreamy relationship - is precisely what Becky and I kept working toward. And not just working to get me here, but working to where I could recognize how fabulous here is, and, you know, hopefully only mess it up a little.

Which is why, when M turned to me this weekend and asked if I was freaked out about turning 30, I could answer quite unabashedly, no. Granted, age has never really freaked me out, but as I said to him, a quick review of the past few months makes it pretty clear that I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but here. And how could I be here without also being on the cusp of turning 30?

There isn't a particularly good way to talk about how sweet this life is without also sounding like I'm bragging. But what I want to say is that while I do feel tremendously lucky, and try my best to appreciate how good this life is, I also want to recognize and take credit for just how hard I worked to get here. And by hard work I mean both academically and professionally to position myself here but also personally and emotionally.

Which brings us back to the boy. Becky spent a lot of time asking me to sit with all the emotions that make me want to get up and run away - feeling lonely, vulnerable, wanting a partner. All that stuff still makes me want to run away. And I'm still pretty insecure and crazy when it comes to being in a relationship (see earlier post about body image). But I'm working on it. Because he's worth it.

Pretty early on I told one of my friends that I was willing to sacrifice myself on the alter of humiliation for this guy. Not because I thought that was going to be necessary (it wasn't) but because I knew that I wouldn't be able to stand missing out on this because I was scared.

So. What can I tell you about him? He's thoughtful and kind, smart and geeky, handsome and responsible. The first thing he tells his friends about me is that I have a PhD. He likes me for the right reasons. That's the important stuff.

*nevermind that I've been feeling a bit of mess lately on the details - irresponsible eating and sleeping habits, working too much, etc. etc. It's the big picture stuff that took all the work.

2010-11-14T21:22:00.000-08:00

Anticipation

Several of my guy friends have told me a similar story about proposing to their girlfriends - despite any sort of elaborate plans he may have had, once he was actually carrying around the ring, he absolutely had to ask her *right now*! I sort of love this. I think it's adorable that they interrupt work, impromptu ask when she gets out of the shower, etc. I love that once they've made up their minds to ask, there is no waiting, they have to blurt it out.

There's a phrase that's been on the tip of my tongue for days...weeks. It's not a question. And it's arguably a bit too early. But I keep almost blurting it out.

2010-10-24T13:29:00.000-07:00

From today's Post Secret:

This breaks my heart. I've previously written about grad school, and the mindfuck that it can be. In fact, sadly, searching the phrase "I hate grad school" or some permutation thereof is the number one way that people wind up here at my blog. And the thing is, I *loved* grad school. But I was lucky. It was tough, don't get me wrong. It certainly contributed to me losing my shit* for a while. But spending my 20s in school was actually pretty awesome. In a lot of ways it was what academia promises to be - a community of interesting and interested people, a (relatively) safe place to try out ideas, to stretch mentally and emotionally, to linger a little longer in my stunted early twenties lifestyle, even as I rapidly approached my late twenties.

But not every department in every grad school offers those things. And the trade-off is different in every field. It's not ok that we keep sending kids off to grad school so poorly informed about the reality of their decisions. I'll never understand the students who were there because they didn't know what they wanted to do and therefore grad school seemed like a decent way to keep treading water. I don't mean that in a judgemental way about those students. I mean that I truly will never understand how they experience grad school. *Choosing* to go to grad school is *doing* something. It's not the absence of a choice. In fact, it's a really fucking hard thing to do. Depending on your field, it's expensive. If you're lucky enough (like me) to want to do something that the world decides is worth funding, then it's 'free,' but at the cost of indentured servitude and, especially in this economy, perpetual hustling for that 'free' money. If you happen to be unlucky enough to love something that the world doesn't value, then your love better keep your belly full. Literally. Two of my friends chose this particular path. Or rather, this particular path chose them. Because that's what it's like when you earn degrees in English or Art History. In both their cases it was clear that this was the thing they were made to do (ok, in the latter case she went off to be a brilliant writer, but still, art history - she's made for it).

In both cases, they literally went hungry, for non-trivial periods of time. This is the message that kids applying to grad school need to hear. Do you love the thing you're studying so much that you'll want to keep studying it, even if paying for classes means maybe only one or two meals a day? Means doing the grind, day in and day out, for years, with no promise of any job upon graduation, much less a lucrative job to help you pay off those student loans that didn't quite cover enough for both rent and food? Because, for some of you, that is what it will be like. Is that supremely fucked up? Yes, of course it is. And we should get to work changing the system. But meanwhile, you should be asking yourself "Do I love this enough to get me through the really shitty days? To get me out of bed when life is miserable and cruel? Or do I just sort of think this elective I took sophomore year was neat?" Because applying that criteria may, just may, spare you the kind of regret expressed above.

*would I have lost it anyway? Probably. Am I grateful that happened, because I'm in such a better place now as a result of finding my shit again? You're damn right.

2010-10-21T09:56:00.000-07:00

Hallooo Vacation!

So this is what it's like to be an adult on vacation. I mean, surely I've had that experience before, but I think this is my first international trip where I am both on my own and it's all about me. Arguably, my last trip to Ireland was all about me (we were here for my conference and I did 90% of the planning), and having Mom around was great, but this is different. I don't know, maybe I just haven't been spending enough non-work-time with myself lately. I've commented before about the incredible luxury of making your own decisions, absent consultation with anyone else. Of course, the trade-off for that luxury is a fair bit of loneliness. And traveling always makes me a tad lonely - practically everywhere seems like a potential romantic destination, doesn't it? But I have to say, challenges of actually getting here aside, deciding to take these four days for myself is possibly the best idea I've had in ages.

After finally (finally!) getting to my hotel, I braced myself with two strong cups of coffee. One shower and change of clothes later and I was feeling human again, and what better reward than to step out into an unexpectedly beautiful, sunny afternoon! I am so pleased that the first thing I did on this trip was visit the Garden of Remembrance. Mom and I went here on our last visit, but arrived after the garden was technically closed, so we could only peak through the fence. And this time I was able to capture the beautiful sculpture pictured above - Children of Lir, by Oisin Kelly. Then a quick breeze through Dublin City Gallery, a nice walk along O'Connell and Quay streets, capped off with beef and guinness stew and my first (hopefully of many!) kilkenny in two years.

Wandering around it's sort of hard to believe both that I've only ever spent 10 days here, and that that was two years ago. I guess because I did pore so much time and effort into planning that last trip, Dublin feels very familiar and comfortable to me.

And, so far so good in terms of balancing effort and rest. The travel here really was rather challenging (re-routing flights, tracking down misplaced luggage, mad dash through Heathrow on a 45 minute layover, then forever in line at customs here in Ireland) and I haven't genuinely slept in far too long. But I feel good about the out-and-about-ness that I managed this afternoon - I enjoyed and appreciated it, and now I'm tired, and I'm going to spend the evening relaxing and sleeping and not feeling guilty about that. Huzzah vacation!

2010-10-16T07:06:00.000-07:00

PS - sorry for the absenteeism. Travel, work, etc. In fact, I'm posting this from the Atlanta airport. Hello Atlanta! I miss you! And yes, Sid, I got your link...post on that...eventually.

2010-10-16T06:57:00.001-07:00

Statistics for Good!

Practically everyone else has already posted this, but I'm going to jump on the bandwagon anyway (thanks April, for sending the link!).

I thoroughly enjoy the folks at okcupid to begin with - they run a free dating site that doesn't totally suck (at least, for major cities) and has just the right amount of tongue-in-cheekness (in my opinion). Plus, they use their treasure-trove of voluntarily-provided, somewhat-private information to run neat statistical analyses. Like this one, using 4 million match searches to show that no, homosexuals aren't out to seduce heterosexuals (0.6% of gay men and 0.1% of lesbians ever searched for straight matches), nor are they particularly promiscuous (same median reported number of sex partners for self-reported straight and gay men and women). Lots of other good stuff at the link, including a map of who is gay curious in the US and Canada and this excellent bit of advice "I found that a fun game to play with stuff like this is to replace the words 'homosexual' and 'gay' with 'politician'—then you have something that's actually true."

2010-09-10T18:17:00.000-07:00

I love this

(via Sociological Images)

2010-08-22T20:37:00.000-07:00

I love Mad Men, for so many reasons. One of which is Peggy.

"I have a boyfriend."
"Does he own your vagina?"
"No, but he rents it!"

2010-08-19T00:14:00.000-07:00

Body Image

It's hardly news that gymnastics fucks with your body image. I was always a Mary Lou Retton/Kim Zmeskal type. Those eastern European genes, which meant I was tailor made to withstand the physical challenges of gymnastics also meant I was never going to be a pixie. Never described as petite. Oh sure, I'm small. I've been short all my life. But never petite. It takes muscles, to propel 100+ pounds more than four feet into the air. And muscles aren't really dainty.

I joke that I barely fit through doorways, but seriously, it's next to impossible to fit these shoulders into dress shirts or jackets. I mean, that is, assuming I want to be able to lift my arms.

I try to leave behind the stereotype of a body-conscious gymnast. I like to say that I wasn't particularly, permanently, scarred, physically or emotionally, by my 14 years in the sport. We were never publicly weighed in at my gym (thank goodness). But we did spend a lot of time in spandex. Which isn't exactly forgiving. And adolescent girls are hardly known for being kind.

So I try to keep my unscathed past in gymnastics stay in the past. I try to view my body as an impressive machine, capable of amazing physical feats. Perhaps aesthetically imperfect, but functionally impressive.

And yet...and yet. I have found myself recently...downright disgusted by parts of my body. I’ve even caught myself mentally uttering the phrase “food is not the enemy.” WTF? Of course food is not the enemy! Food is fuel! Food is necessary energy for all the best, most fun parts of life!

Where did this person come from? I like to think I came out of gymnastics unscathed, but hi, the ugly head of indoctrination is clearly rearing itself. But is that gymnastics, or my family?

My family doesn't really have the best track record in terms of body image. My folks have always commented on how fat some famous person, or an old acquaintance, has become. I have heard my father make moo-ing noises in response to actresses' appearances. My mother sometimes refers to someone as looking like they ate their former selves. She, in particular, is obsessed with her own size (I surpassed my mother's size sometime in high school).

And, ok, honestly, this is the chubbiest I’ve ever been while also being in a situation where I am seen naked, in good lighting, by someone I’m attracted to. And honestly, it’s making me a little crazy. This is the most I’ve ever hated my body, and I like to think that I work pretty hard to not hate any part of me. But that’s where my head is right now. And I am currently losing this struggle.

2010-08-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

Scotch

Finally tidying up after trip to Vancouver for a conference and found a scrap of paper with this scrawled on it - "Ardbeg Uigeadail." That, my friends, is the crazy delicious whiskey, I'm sorry, scotch, I had the good fortune to taste thanks to my hotel's friendly bartender. I only regret not having a cigar to go with it. Good lord - delicious, earthy, and, of course, expensive. I can't say I'll be breaking open an $80 bottle of scotch any time soon, but I'll be sorely tempted to justify a celebratory glass whenever I see it on a menu...

Storm by Tim Minchin (with text)

2010-07-28T22:41:00.000-07:00

Also, I can't seem to watch this too many times. Tim Minchin is my new Eddie Izzard.

2010-07-28T22:12:00.000-07:00

Whooping Cough (part 2)

Maryn, over at Superbug, has a much better post than mine about pertussis. Here's the pertinent bit:

Because vaccine immunity fades, pertussis is always with us: in good years, about 1,000 cases across the United States. Lately, though, we're in bad years. Pertussis cases are rising dramatically, in Alabama, Georgia, Arkansas, Texas, South Carolina, Michigan, Oregon and Ohio. The worst by far is California, where so far this year almost 1,500 cases of pertussis have been reported and another 700 are suspected — compared to 258 for the same time period in 2009.
...
Work published last year by several scientists at Kaiser Permanente of Colorado found that unvaccinated children were 23 times more likely to contract pertussis than vaccinated ones. (Glanz, McClure, Magid et al., Pediatrics 2009, doi:10.1542/peds.2008-2150.) And yet, as numerous stories (LA Times, MedPage Today) have pointed out, California's epidemic has blossomed in a state that gives some of the most generous "personal belief exemptions" from vaccination — and the epidemic's worst hot spots neatly correlate with the most concentrated areas of vaccine refusal.

23 times! Parents are making medical choices that lead to their kids being 23 times more likely to get sick!

2010-07-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

Low Maintenance*

I can't remember if the director ever explicitly said this, but back when I was in Footlighters, and was cast in a certain show, I remember discussing with some other friends that my limited talent was probably balanced out by the fact that I could be counted on to show up to rehearsals on time, follow direction, and pitch in where needed. My friends said those skills were definitely not discounted or unnoticed by directors. It's nice to have people on the team on whom you can rely to just get stuff done and get along.

Prior to today, that's the only time I can recall that those particular aspects of my personality were specifically noted and appreciated. I don't mean to tell this story in a self-deprecating way, or to imply that I don't appreciate those aspects of me (and truth be told, I think others do too, it's just not typically the sort of thing we bother to point out and praise).

But things have been a bit tough at work lately. There are some transitions happening and people are feeling emotionally and professionally stressed out and everything will work out in the end, but this is a rough patch. And of course, rough patches are even more noticeable with everyone in town and in close quarters for our retreat. And in my one-on-one catch-up with my boss today, he made a point of saying that he had noticed that I haven't been a problem this week. That's not to say I'm a sheep, or that my co-workers are problems. But he noticed, and appreciated, that I had stayed on topic, contributed succinctly and appropriately to team discussions, and (because he's kind of sensitive) that during long days my body language** conveyed un-stressed-but-paying-attention.

I guess I'm just saying that it was incredibly gratifying, especially given what work has been like lately, to be explicitly praised for getting shit done while, mostly, disengaging from the emotional muck that we're currently working through. I do think this is a particular skill of mine, and I have no idea how I would describe it if, heaven forbid, I ever got that awful interview question about strengths and weaknesses, but it was nice that the boss noticed, and told me he noticed. Today was a good day.

*My Dad has a running joke wherein he likes to refer to me as the worst kind of woman (according to When Harry Met Sally) - the kind who thinks she's low maintenance, but is in fact high maintenance. I *think* this is just a joke...I'm not really high maintenance, am I? Would any of you tell me if I was?

**maybe that's a weird thing for a boss to notice, but like I said, it's been a rough patch, and definitely looking around the room these past few days there have been some people clearly clenching their jaws and/or fists and otherwise conveying frustration/anger/etc. And hey, people are certainly entitled to be feeling that way right now...but other people are equally entitled to find it annoying, unpleasant, and unproductive.

2010-07-15T22:13:00.001-07:00

Third Floor Espresso has officially been added to my hypothetical Dublin itinerary. Thanks boingboing!

(at this point, I should practically just have a twitter account, right? /shudders)

2010-07-11T21:34:00.001-07:00

Want.

That's all for now. I've gone on 3 trips in the past 3 weeks (two for me, one for work) and my company retreat starts tomorrow. More when my brain is my own again.

2010-06-28T13:10:00.000-07:00

Travel Plans - Update

While procrastinating on the internet I discovered that (at least for the moment) it's cheaper to fly round trip SFO - Dublin and book a round trip train ticket Dublin - Belfast than simply fly SFO - Belfast. So this means there's now about an 80% chance I'll hang out in Dublin for a few days before heading north to my conference in Belfast. Anyone want to join me around the third week of October (say, 10/21-ish)?

2010-06-25T08:44:00.000-07:00

Vaccinate!

Peers, get your DTaP vaccine (that's diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis - aka whooping cough). Most of us were vaccinated as children, but our immune response wanes as we grow up, and whooping cough in particular has a tendency to crop up (like right now, in CA).

Although I was never diagnosed, I'm fairly certain I had whooping cough in college. Case friends - remember that time my junior year when I was sick for like a month? And had that hacking cough that you could hear across an entire apartment? Whoop whoop.

My brother caught whooping cough from our cousin a few years ago. The cousin was exposed to an un-vaccinated schoolmate and then proceeded to expose the entire family one Thanksgiving. In healthy young people, it's just a bad cold. But let's all be responsible citizens and contribute to herd immunity for the young, old, and unhealthy among us, mmmkay?

2010-06-23T21:49:00.000-07:00

Atlanta – My Other Home

I’m just back from a weekend in ATL, and everything about it was like slipping on an old comfortable pair of jeans. Not so long ago I was waxing poetic about how nice it was to come home to SF, and of course WV will also always be home (I’ll be there in a couple of weeks too). I’ve learned that despite my traveling, or perhaps because of it, I’m actually a bit of a homebody. More than a couple of days in a hotel room and I’m going to unpack. I’ll nest just about anywhere. A friend, who has spent far more days on the road than I, recently told me that he started to associate home with his stuff – when out at museums or wandering around he would start to think, I need to get home…to my backpack.

Anyway. So as I turned the familiar corner on Freedom Parkway where the city skyline suddenly comes into view, I though, Ah. There’s my city. I haven’t really lived all that many places (this is city number four, unless summers count, in which case I’m at six). But the thing about Atlanta is it’s the first place I both chose and liked. It’s the place where I figured out how to be a person. The place where I lost my shit. And then found it again.

This weekend was everything a visit back home should be – long, relaxed stretches catching up with old friends, without feeling harried or pressured to hurry up and get to the next visit. Just sitting and drinking and doing as little possible.

Plus! It featured a brand new friend! I had the extreme pleasure of meeting Heather – musician, fashionista, and soon-to-be scientist extraordinaire.

Books!

I am so remiss in these postings. Let’s play catch-up:

I finally gave up on the Wollstonecraft bio and started The Road instead. Oof. I've had the movie in my netflix queue, but after reading the book I'm not sure I have it in me. The book is excellent, but so disturbing that at two moments I actually had to put the thing down. That's some impressive writing.

Who Killed Retro Girl - I started reading this first entry in the Powers series while in Guatemala, and I was going to describe it thusly - "Oh Powers! You had me at 'What's a clitoris?' but does Deena have to be like every other woman in comics and wear shirts that show her belly button?" And then! They acknowledged it! "And shit. I wear these little belly shirts all day. That's gotta do something for you." It's better than nothing. I mean the acknowledgement is better than nothing. The book is better than lots of things, least of which is nothing.

The Well of Lost Plots and Something Rotten - I'm a total Jasper Fforde fangirl. In fact, Fforde was the cause of me finally using my various technological toys to their fullest potential. I finished Lost Plots while halfway back from Palo Alto on the Caltrain. I couldn't remember the name of the next one, so I used my smartphone to look it up online, then downloaded it on my kindle. I am a nerd. I'm also late to this bandwagon, so I shouldn't have to convince you about how awesomely entertaining Thursday Next and all her friends are.

2010-06-23T14:06:00.000-07:00

Birthday!
(I'm actually working on a totally different post, but this one occurred to me today, and Sid has been hassling me for some new content, so here you go!)

So. I’m turning 30 this year. And Melissa’s birthday extravaganza in Iceland got me to thinking – I’m a grown-up, with a paycheck. I don’t need excuses to travel. I can just go somewhere that sounds fun and interesting and because I want to! Ok peanut gallery – where should I go for my birthday? I’m flexible on the definition of ‘for my birthday.’ I may still, happily, spend the actual day here in SF. But the trip would be my gift to myself. Here’s what’s on my list so far – feel free to comment or add:

1) Germany – I am way overdue on some visits, and I now have three friends living in various German towns, so I could bounce around the country for a week and a half or so for relatively cheap.
~~2) Boston – Similar story – I have reached critical mass in terms of friends in Boston, several of whom I haven’t seen in years! ☹~~
3) The Bahamas – PC’s sister owns a house in the Bahamas, so we could stay for free
4) Hawaii – because I live on the west coast, so if the Bahamas are on the list, shouldn’t Hawaii be too?
5) Las Vegas – because I’ve never been, and what could be more fun than a ridiculous birthday weekend in sin city?
6) Dublin – I loved it when Mom and I were there a couple of years ago and I’ll be in Belfast for work in Oct. so I could tack a few days on one side or the other and head south…
7) Cartegena – I’ve heard it’s beautiful, and the odds that I’ll be back in Bog sometime this year are pretty much certain, so why not take a few vacation days and head to the coast?

Obviously each of these has pros and cons, not least of which is whether or not I would be surrounding myself with friends or traveling alone. I don't really have a favorite idea yet, so now's your chance to sway me!

Update - I'm not really marking Boston off the list, but I completely forgot that I'm already committed to being there in Sept for a friend's wedding! So no need to factor it into a potential birthday-trip list. Yay!

2010-05-28T09:55:00.000-07:00

More like this please

“In case you’re wondering who’s responsible, I take responsibility,” Mr. Obama said as he concluded the news conference.

It doesn't make it ok, it doesn't undo the damage being done in the Gulf, but it does count for something. I feel like I've been waiting my whole life for a President who would admit that the buck stops with him. Good on you Mr. President.

2010-05-27T21:45:00.000-07:00

One Year Later

A year ago (one year and three days, to be precise) I moved out west. Today, I sat in traffic while gazing loopily and happily out the window of a taxi. I don't think I've ever been happier to be home. I've been traveling. A lot. I don't really mean to complain, the travel is a good thing about the job, but oof. There wasn't quite enough breathing room between these last two trips. About an hour after getting home (just enough time to grab a shower and fulfill my fantasy of the past few days to curl up on my own bed) I crossed the street to my neighborhood grocery store to grab some dinner. On the way I passed the guy who runs the coffee joint across the street. "Hey - nice to see you! You're just back right? Honduras?" "Close - Guatemala." "Oh, right, right. Well, cheers! See you soon!" (he will see plenty of me soon, as I plan to camp out at his vaguely-euro-style coffee shop for ample world cup viewing)

I have fallen slightly short of the goal I set for myself when I took this job, but I'm not complaining. In May '09 I had visited 7 countries - Canada, Mexico, Germany, France, Italy, Ireland, The Bahamas. I was aiming to double that number by May '10, but I'll settle quite happily for an additional 4 - Colombia, South Korea (though an overnight layover shouldn't really count), Nepal, and Guatemala.

On the subject of travel, I have to say, I rather wish my co-workers would stop putting me in un-marked cars in countries where taking 'gypsy' cabs is *really* dangerous. The first time actually was a bad idea, but everything worked out ok. The second time everything was on the up and up - a co-worker had called a driver she trusted, who used to drive a cab, and now rents out his cabs and drives his own personal car. But when you don't speak the language, it can be kind of difficult to suss out the situation. And I could really do without the extra blood pressure points.

Guate

Guatemala, in general, was a great trip. But I have to say it's one of the more challenging places I've been. Several of my hosts warned me that everyday street crime is so frequent, it's unsafe to take your camera out on the street (which was really a shame, as Guatemala City has some really interesting graffiti). And guns have always made me uncomfortable, but I'm sort of used to large guns in certain contexts - I saw M16s in Italy in the '90s, and hell, these days the cops in Times Square carry them. AK47s are the weapon of choice among police/military/security in many (most?) developing countries. But I have to confess to being distracted every time I saw a security guard/police person in Guatemala with a pump action shotgun and a bandolier of bullets. In no context were any of these weapons brandished or threatening, and certainly the locals didn't seem to pay them much mind. But I couldn't help noticing them.

Back to One Year Later

So. It's been a year. One year of having a jobby-job. One year of being a west coaster. This does feel like home, sort of, and especially on days like today when I've been missing my own bed and potable tap water. Especially on days when I'm reminded that not only do I have a local coffee shop where they know me, they know me well enough to (almost) remember salient details from a conversation from three weeks ago. I still gawk in pleasant surprise that I get to live somewhere as beautiful as northern california, but I'm told by many that even after decades that doesn't wear off. I definitely don't feel any more like a grown-up. Probably because I still work nights and weekends and at least a couple of days a week from my pajamas on the couch. I do feel more...ownership (for lack of a better word) at work. More like I've figured out the ropes, my place on the team...I'm more comfortable offering my own opinions without feeling the need to defer to folks who've been around longer.

So. There's that. Happy one year anniversary to me!

2010-04-25T23:09:00.000-07:00

Good lord, Timothy Olyphant is the best thing to happen to a low-slung pair of jeans since Brad Pitt. Just sayin'.

I'm sitting here at the tail end of one of the most enjoyable weekends I've had in months. I know a list of things I've done over the past couple of days falls in the "lunch" category, but, well, tough.

On Friday a new friend coaxed me out of the house for Open Studios, under the pretense that it would be a moderate and early night. Well, far too many glasses of wine (plus whiskey? and beer?) and about six hours later I finally found myself stumbling from a cab to my door. But a good time was had, and art was purchased (seriously, I'm totally in love with Matt DeLight), so who am I to complain?

Oh, right, because ten hours later I was scheduled to meet my boss and a couple of other friends to go hiking in Marin (oh, my life is so tough!).

But thanks to a heavy breakfast and copious amounts of water and coffee I was able to handle myself ok (if I do say so myself) even when post-hike my boss suggested brunch and wine in Sausalito (again, tough, I know).

Saturday afternoon I actually managed to get some work done, wrapping up in time to whip up dinner around 11pm. Which was convenient, since a friend suggested we head out for drinks around 1am.

Today was my TDLF day for April, so I rolled out of bed slightly before noon, hit the neighborhood coffee shop for brunch, spent the better part of the afternoon shopping (grown-up pants! on sale!) then snacked on some seriously decadent chocolate (mmm...fleur de sel caramel in dark chocolate) and wine in front of the tv. Life is good.

(Just, you know, completely hypothetically, what's the general rule of thumb these days about PDA? Because I've always thought kissing while standing on the curb at 2am waiting for a cab, or tucked in the shadows outside your front door was pretty socially acceptable, but that canoodling on the sidewalk on a Sunday afternoon was, um, awkward. Thoughts?)

2010-04-24T00:31:00.001-07:00

Parents, Questions, and Safety Net

(I'm a little drunk, so this post may not be as coherent as I would like)

It's hardly news, to people who know me, that I think my parents are awesome. Also, that I'm well versed in their own personal histories, and that makes me cut them even more slack, and in fact, leads me to be impressed that they even get out of bed each morning, much less that they turned out to be totally capable parents*.

But the thing about their parenting, and the family that they created, that's really been crystallizing for me lately, is the fact that they created this space where it was completely safe to question virtually anything. One of the quintessential stories from my pseudo-Catholic upbringing is that I still believed in Santa Claus at a time when I knew that the date for Christmas was chosen to cover up the pagan holiday of solstice (Dad, in the back of the church, during midnight mass, whispering in my ear: think about it Megan. why would the shepherds be out with their flock in the dead of winter? they only slept with their flock during birthing season, and that was in the spring. and what leader would order a census in the middle of winter?). And the thing is, that didn't detract from faith. The stories in the Bible could be depicted as allegories, as symbolic, without lessoning the power of religious beliefs.

When we were much younger, deemed too young to behave ourselves in church, Dad would read to us from the Bible on Sunday mornings. We were encouraged to interrupt with questions. No question too dumb or weird or arbitrary or threatening. Questioning was a good thing. It strengthened belief and ideas.

That same philosophy was applied to everything. I can't imagine a scenario where asking questions was inappropriate or dangerous or stupid. Challenging ideas, poking around their edges, articulating their strengths and weaknesses, that was the whole point, wasn't it? Wondering about things, being confused by things, questioning the logic of certain paradigms. All were encouraged. If an idea, a belief, couldn't stand up to such challenges, then why cling to it in the first place?

It's taken me a couple of decades to realize, but that's an incredibly rare, incredibly safe, space in which to be raised.

*that's not to say they didn't make mistakes, because hi, we're all fucked up in our own special ways. but all things considered, they did a pretty bang up job, if I do say so myself.

2010-04-24T00:24:00.000-07:00

Ode to an airport
(written on one of my flights last week)

I know I'm biased, since ATL was my home base for six years. But I just don't get all the complaints about this airport. Yes, pretty often, the flights are not on time and/or there's a lot of traffic on the runway. It's the world's busiest airport! What do you expect? Meanwhile, today, in 30 minutes I went from my arriving flight in concourse B to my departing flight's gate in concourse E, checked in, got my seat assignment, back-tracked out to the main concourse lobby, got a slice of pizza, went to the restroom, and still had time to call my Mom before they started boarding the plane. Where else, I ask you, would even half of that have been possible? Because unlike so many other airports I've spent time in (I'm looking at you, Houston), the Atlanta airport is laid out in a logical, coherent fashion such that it's possible to make a 30 minute connection without a stressful mad dash. Instead, all that is needed is a brisk walk and a train ride.

Plus, they know how to move people. They may not always be as patient and polite as I would like them to be, but hell, I'll take efficient over friendly any day (and more often than not, in my experience, they're both). I've lost track of the number of times I rounded the corner toward security only to pull up short, mutter fuck under my breath, and join the hundred or so other people in line. But eventually, I learned to stop muttering my choice expletive, because a hundred or so people take about 15 minutes to clear security in Atlanta. Unlike other airports I've been to (I'm looking at you, Reagan National) where a dozen people seem to stand in line for 30 minutes or more. Seriously, I get that Reagan is the smaller, domestic choice compared to Dulles and BWI, but it's in our Nation's Capital and it's a freaking gong show! Every time! So embarrassing.

Lastly, some constructive criticism. Concourse E in Atlanta is the only concourse lacking the fully coherent organizational structure of all the other concourses - longish hallway, split in the middle with escalators to the train to other concourses. Concourse E doesn't make any sense. It's a haphazard collection of gates in all directions. It's also clearly under construction. What's up ATL? The rest of the airport works like a well-oiled machine. Fix up the international concourse, eh?

2010-04-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

More Like This Please

Ezra has a map (via the Fourth Branch) showing which states receive more than a $1 back in terms of federal funding for every $1 they spend in taxes versus those states that receive less than a $1. Personally, I would have titled the post a little differently (he calls it the red state ripoff, but it's not a ripoff - it's how federalism works - we're all in this together). And various commenters make excellent points about the subtlety of federal funding (for instance, how do you quantify federal tax dollars that support the CDC? technically those are dollars going to GA, but that's spending that benefits the entire country). But my point is, this is an excellent visualization of the already-occurring (and, I would argue, necessary) redistribution of money happening in our country. No one here is truly self-sufficient, making it on their own, pulling themselves up by their bootstraps. I'm just so tired of people wailing about big government and how bad that is and then completely failing to acknowledge just how much they're sucking off big government's teat.

2010-04-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

Reagan Day

The CA senate has passed a bill to make Feb. 6 Ronald Reagan Day. As I said six years ago, apparently all you have to do to white wash your record is die during a sympathetic conservative administration. Reagan's behavior during the early days of the AIDS crisis was inexcusable, unforgivable, and only made a bad situation worse. Reagan's own surgeon general, Dr. C. Everett Koop, has said that Reagan and his advisers did not feel the need to act urgently because AIDS was affecting classes of people who "are only getting what they justly deserve." Perhaps we should think twice before we honor and celebrate a leader who believes certain classes of people deserve to die.

2010-04-06T21:05:00.000-07:00

Home

For the past two days my facebook page has been filling up with thoughts and prayers for coal miners and vindictive wishes for Massey Energy. By this morning a couple of my regular blogs had chimed in.

When I was in eighth grade I read Storming Heaven. Again, this morning, Denise Giardina gets it right.

It seems we can’t escape our heritage. I grew up in a coal camp in the southern part of the state. Every day my school bus drove past a sign posted by the local coal company keeping tally, like a basketball scoreboard, of “man hours” lost to accidents. From time to time classmates whose fathers had been killed or maimed would disappear, their families gone elsewhere to seek work.
We knew then, and know now, that we are a national sacrifice area. We mine coal despite the danger to miners, the damage to the environment and the monomaniacal control of an industry that keeps economic diversity from flourishing here. We do it because America says it needs the coal we provide.
West Virginians get little thanks in return. Our miners have historically received little protection, and our politicians remain subservient to Big Coal. Meanwhile, West Virginia is either ignored by the rest of the nation or is the butt of jokes about ignorant hillbillies.
Here in West Virginia we will forget our fleeting dream of basketball glory and get about the business of mourning. It is, after all, something we do very well.

2010-03-31T21:36:00.000-07:00

Women...and men.

I have the good fortune to be friends and work with some amazing women. Amazing in any way that you care to define that word - smart, witty, funny, talented. This means, among other things, that we have excellent conversation about being this kind of woman at this point in time. The misfortune of being a woman in a generation in transition (is there any other kind?). The challenge of being a heterosexual woman at a time when society hasn't quite figured out where men fit if they aren't the primary member of a partnership in terms of money or power or fame. This certainly doesn't excuse the behavior of some men in the face of successful women (for example) but it seems worth acknowledging that society hasn't really figured out a place for men who bring something else to the relationship table besides breadwinning.

The thing is, it takes a particularly strong man to play that role - not only strong and comfortable enough in his own relationship, but strong and comfortable enough to stand up to literally daily questioning of what the hell he's doing in a relationship where a woman is the primary earner/has more career ambition/some other traditional measure of masculinity. What a shock that maybe she pays the bills and he cooks dinner and that works for them and how it works for them is none of your damn business. So shut the hell up already. Because it takes all kinds to make this society of ours tick, and when two people, against all odds, manage to find a way that works, we should be applauding rather than nit-picking.

2010-03-28T15:06:00.000-07:00

Awesome.

2010-03-26T11:59:00.001-07:00

Happy couple-of-days-after Ada Lovelace Day!

As predicted, didn't get around to writing anything myself. So pop over to BoingBoing and read Cory Doctorow's excellent contribution.

2010-03-19T21:41:00.000-07:00

Love This.

I have on my calendar to blog for Ada Lovelace Day, but given that that also happens to be a travel day for me, just in case my brain is mush...maybe this counts?

2010-03-11T20:35:00.000-08:00

Totally kick-ass colleagues

I've mentioned plenty of times the extremely close, lack of boundaries, sort of relationship most of my co-workers and I have. For many, this would be dysfunctional. But for us, this totally works. And thank goodness. Because when you travel with someone, when you spend hours and hours on planes and in airports with someone. And then share a hotel room with them. And then work with them, all day long...and share your meals with them...well, you damn well better get along like family.

2010-03-06T22:25:00.000-08:00

Books!

Seriously, I haven't mentioned books here since November? WTF?

I did finally finish the Turtledove, and remain thoroughly unimpressed. I won't be bothering with the rest of the series.

I remember that I brought a bunch of books with me to Nepal, but I honestly can't remember what I read while I was there other than the tour book.

I've covered a few more issues of DMZ, and another in the Thursday Next series. At the behest of our intern I started the Tales of the City series. Last week I picked up Rock On for a couple of bucks at Green Apple.

And once again, I find myself feeling obligated to finish a book that's really not doing it for me. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman is (allegedly) an excellent biography of Mary Wollstonecraft. Granted, kindle informs me that I'm only 15% of the way in, but so far I'm pretty bored. And I've got 20+ hours coming up on planes and in airports and More Tales of the City and The Well of Lost Plots are so much more tempting!

Somewhat tangentially, my totally kickass friend Kate keeps churning out the publications. You have been following her, right?

2010-03-06T20:47:00.000-08:00

Feeling like a banker

Real world jobs are weird. So are bonuses. Apparently, the money that a company sets aside for bonuses can only be spent on bonuses. The company board can choose to give or not give bonuses to various employees, as recommended by managers, but evidently, they can't reallocate those funds to pay for, say, the position that was just eliminated and the person who consequently just got laid off.

So I'm feeling sort of ambivalent about it. But I'm hardly complaining. Thanks to this unexpected check I can pay my taxes and hit a new order of magnitude in my savings account (the check isn't that big - I was close to my goal and it's putting me over the edge). Which means for the first time ever, the Oh Shit plan doesn't immediately involve moving back home with the parents. Whoa.

2010-03-02T22:41:00.001-08:00

Ways in which I'm not Particularly Good at Relationships

PC is right when he says I'm a little too good at spending time by myself. The other day I was downtown running an errand around dinner time and decided to grab a seat at the bar at a local restaurant. Treated myself to veggie curry and two glasses of wine. Had a lovely time. Was totally fine by myself. I had a book to keep me entertained. Made small talk with the bartender.

The last post, about work, was me starting to think through these things. Because often I'm thinking of work when I should be, could be, thinking about someone else (though these days, I'm just as often thinking about someone else, too). I started seeing someone new. This is, honestly, embarrassingly, the most consecutive dates I've gone on with the same person in a really, really long time. Because I pretend like I'm out there, like I'm flinging myself into the dating pool, but in most cases I haven't been giving it an honest try. A few dates, a good time, but there are other ways I'd rather be spending my time.

But this guy...this guy caught me off guard. Called my bluff on my busy schedule and worked himself into it, multiple times a week. And things are good. I'm freaking out, of course, and practicing some self-sabotage, but in general, things are good.

Though tonight I'm kicking myself. He's genuinely stressed out, for good, grown-up reasons, and practiced a little well-earned self-medication via booze after work today. He called me up, all sweetly tipsy. And I'm genuinely stressed out too, for good, grown-up reasons, but my reasons are less good and less urgent than his. But I was all distracted on the phone, fixated on the code I was trying to debug, preoccupied by my upcoming trip, whining about details that offend my neurotic personality but will inevitably work themselves out. I wasn't there and I wasn't supportive. I was all about me.

I've waxed philosophical before about how luxurious it is to make selfish decisions. To take a job on the other side of the country without consulting anyone else. To take a job that includes a lot of travel and know that you don't have to coordinate that with anyone else's schedule.

Sometimes, this is referred to as stuck in your ways. When you reach a certain age, and have spent the majority of your time alone, you get stuck in your ways. What this really means is that you get comfortable being alone, being master of your domain. Of course you do.

I spent a lot of time in therapy with Becky, sitting with the idea that I want a partner. Just sitting with it. Just getting all warm and fuzzy and cuddly with the notion that I'm lonely and want someone to share this life with.

Of course we get stuck in our ways. Of course we get good at spending time with ourselves. Because if we keep that loneliness at arms' length, if we don't cuddle up with it at night, the idea that it might just be us forever into the future is bearable. We have coping mechanisms. We have books. We have ways to go out alone.

But when we sit with that want, when we throw open the door to the possibility of failure and loss and loneliness...well, good grief, of course it scares the shit out of us!

Of course we retreat into the royal we.

Of course, I'm rounding on 30 and not very good at putting aside my own petty concerns and being a partner and listening and being patient and being there. Hopefully I have the time and opportunities to practice a bit more.

2010-02-27T18:11:00.001-08:00

Work work work

I don't really think of myself as a workaholic. Sure, I talked about my workaholic tendencies when considering whether or not this was the job for me, but that was more due to a) my past 11 years spent in college/grad school, wherein one doesn't keep anything resembling a standard work schedule, and b) my Dad's obvious workaholic tendencies. The former meant I was concerned that my habits of working odd hours could easily prevent me from noticing that I was working too many hours. As for the latter, I have no idea if workaholism is genetic, but it's pretty clear to me that if Dad didn't have a family to come home to, he would work a lot more than he already does. And, oh look, no family for me to come home to, so why not spend a few more hours at the office?

I also pay lip service to the whole idea of work-life balance. I even, in a perhaps not-terribly-professionally-savvy moment, declared to my boss that I wasn't going to work perpetually ratcheted up to a 15 (on a hypothetical scale from 1 to 10 of time and effort at the office; this was following a particularly strenuous two weeks screaming toward deadlines). I don't buy into that martyr crap of comparing many hours you spend at the office, how late you stay, sending e-mails at all hours, etc. etc. etc. To me all that says is that you're an inefficient worker. Get your shit done and go home and get some rest.

But on the other hand, I do find myself working. A lot. What feels like even more than I did in grad school. Certainly some of that is stemming from all the loose ends I have left to tie up - I've been doing a relatively good job of keeping Work stuff limited mostly to M-F (there's a bit of bleed-through with e-mail and vaguely-related internet-reading, but nothing that feels particularly tiring or stressful) but I still spend about half my weekend time editing articles resulting from my dissertation and reviewing articles for other journals. I know, this is part of being a contributing member of my professional society, and I'm (mostly) happy to do it. But it leaves me feeling like there's never any break. In grad school, after a particularly exhausting sprint to finish some project, I would quite intentionally blow off a few days. The last time I spent an entire day not thinking about stats was January 1. That's a lot of consecutive days of heavy mental lifting.

So there's that. I obviously need to get a bit better at taking breaks that last longer than a few hours. And I obviously do have more workaholic tendencies than I care to admit.

But the other thing I was thinking yesterday is that this is my career. This is what I invested 11 years of higher education to get to. Do I want to have a life outside of work? Yes. Right now, at this moment, am I more likely to blow off a social event in favor of getting work done? Absolutely. And that makes sense to me. It matters more to me to get a publication out or figure out a problem or do a bit of networking than to check out that new bar or put in an appearance at that party. Perhaps this is the road to hell, perhaps this is how people wake up at 40 totally burned out. But right now I just want to drink up every second of professional opportunity that comes my way.

This isn't a job. This isn't how I pay my bills. It also doesn't entirely define who I am, but it is a huge part of how I define myself. I don't think I could do it any other way.

2010-02-17T20:34:00.001-08:00

I've had this article open in a tab in my browser for over a month. I keep thinking that maybe if I just keep looking at it I'll figure out what to say. Turns out we don't know how many people die in America's immigration jails. According to the Times, "[f]or years, they went uncounted and unnamed in the public record." That's the sort of sentence I often write about other countries. It's my job to count dead and missing people in the kinds of countries where we aren't surprised that such information is concealed or manipulated. I know I shouldn't be surprised that the same thing happens in this country, but I keep expecting, hoping for, a higher standard.

I know immigration is a contentious topic, and we can all argue about how best to handle the 'immigration problem' another day. Today, let's all agree that, here legally or not, they're human beings. They are human beings, and as such deserve better treatment. We're better than this.

But behind the scenes, it is now clear, the deaths had already generated thousands of pages of government documents, including scathing investigative reports that were kept under wraps, and a trail of confidential memos and BlackBerry messages that show officials working to stymie outside inquiry.
...
...the documents show how officials — some still in key positions — used their role as overseers to cover up evidence of mistreatment, deflect scrutiny by the news media or prepare exculpatory public statements after gathering facts that pointed to substandard care or abuse.
...
While [52 year old Boubacar Bah] lay in the hospital in a coma after emergency brain surgery, 10 agency managers in Washington and Newark conferred by telephone and e-mail about how to avoid the cost of his care and the likelihood of “increased scrutiny and/or media exposure,” according to a memo summarizing the discussion.

2010-01-31T16:10:00.001-08:00

More like this please

From our President and Congress members as well as our press. Almost gives me hope that we just might manage to stay out of a post-fact world.

2010-01-29T22:15:00.000-08:00

Megan and Mom's Big Maoist Adventure
(sorry for the delay*)

Nepal's civil war may be officially over, but the Maoists still don't get along with others, and in May of '09 they were kicked out/left (depending on the source of the story) the coalition government. Since then they've been staging periodic bandhs, or strikes. All businesses are closed and no cars (except tourist vehicles) are allowed on the streets. These are typically peaceful, one day affairs, though, as I linked here before my trip, in November they took over a political office building for three days. Riot police and tear gas ensued.

So. On Saturday night we returned from our lovely day of hiking to a hotel all a-flutter. Apparently a bandh was scheduled for the following day. This wouldn't be too big of a deal (as tourists, the Maoists are particularly uninterested in us) except that we were supposed to fly from Pokhara to Kathmandu the next afternoon. We could delay, except that my flight from Kathmandu to Seoul was scheduled for Monday.

My SIL was pretty worked up - I don't know her well enough to judge if she was actually nervous about the security situation or just because she felt responsible for our travel arrangements and was worried our flights would get all messed up. She made a flurry of phone calls and our plans for the next morning evolved - the hotel would take us to the airport in a well-marked tourist van (which should be allowed on the streets), the local police would meet us in the morning and provide an armed escort (not the best idea, since they're part of the ongoing conflict and, um, we're not). We finally decided that we would have a better handle on the situation in the morning, but packed and prepared to leave at a moment's notice at dawn should that be our best option. My brother, SIL, a friend, and I all settled into the Gurka bar to drink whiskey and make morbid jokes about my brother and I being able to get out of the country on account of our skin color.

The next morning we woke up early but ended up lingering over breakfast at the hotel while news of the bandh trickled in. We finally decided our best option was to walk to the airport. We found two local men who promised to show us the pedestrian shortcuts to the airport and helped us carry our luggage. We walked for about 30 minutes (google maps claims the hotel is 1.5 km from the airport, but I honestly have no idea how far we walked) and then SIL managed to flag down a tourist bus. She loaded all of us and our luggage on, then told us to meet her at the airport, and to be sure not to linger outside. Since she's the only Nepali speaker in our group, the scariest part of the day was watching her wave from the side of the road as the van pulled away. (the bus was really crowded and I guess she figured she could handle herself better than herding us around, but I honestly have no idea why she didn't get on the bus with us)

The bus drove for about 10 minutes, then stopped on a back road, around the corner from the airport. Even though tourist vehicles are allowed on the road during bandh's, main streets are still best avoided. So we walked the last bit, past soldiers milling around intersections and clustered in public squares.

We managed to uneventfully meet back up with SIL outside the airport (she had our tickets, so they wouldn't let us in until she arrived with our paperwork) and proceeded to spend a surreal couple of hours sitting in the sun on the roof of the airport, drinking beer, eating fried cheese balls, waiting for our flight while trucks full of soldiers drove past in one direction and 'Maoist movers' went by in the other.

We were greeted in Kathmandu by a crowd of hundreds of other tourists, all semi-stranded at the airport, all waiting to cram on to a tourist bus like the one pictured above. Fortunately for us, SIL knows everyone in Kathmandu, makes a few phone calls, and not only gets us on the next shuttle, but makes the driver stop at our hotel first!

We took mostly narrow back roads back to the hotel, thus missing the intersections blockaded by burning tires (according to the next morning's newspaper), but we did pass one crowd with arm bands and flags and a speaker shouting into a megaphone.

We spent the rest of the evening regrouping at the Yak and Yeti. The next morning (my birthday!) we stopped by SIL's family's shop, where I was treated to my birthday present:

This was followed up by the sending-you-on-your-journey ceremony back at SIL's family's house, featuring (of course) more rice wine (= moonshine), boiled eggs, and fried fish. Fortunately for me, the actual meal after the ceremony was delicious - rice, daal, aloo gobi, yogurt, etc.

I spent that night at the transit hotel inside the airport in Seoul (a pretty lovely place to be stuck on long layovers), then rejoiced the next morning when I set my watch to US time and discovered that it was my birthday again! Seoul to DC to SF in one day isn't the most fun thing ever (especially not when all the mucous membranes in your body are busily evacuating all the air pollution you've been taking in) but it still seems a small price to pay for the amazing experiences of travel.

*previously, I understood the whole salary work thing in an academic, theoretical way. Sometimes you get paid despite not working, but other times you're essentially working without pay. Optimistically, everything balances out. After the past few weeks, I get this concept in a much more concrete way. And in the future, no more feeling guilty on the days I work somewhat less than 8 hours. You know, should they ever happen again.**
**I'm only complaining a little - work is generally really good. But wow. Exhausted.

2010-01-22T22:04:00.000-08:00

LOVE.
(also, yes, wrap-up for Nepal blogging someday - work has been ridiculous...in mostly good ways)

2010-01-01T20:07:00.001-08:00

Shangri-la (aka, Pokhara)

On Friday afternoon we flew to Pokhara, the second most popular tourist city in Nepal. Above is the ridiculously beautiful resort hotel where we were not exactly slumming it - The Fulbari.

Pokhara is the opposite of Kathmandu - slower pace of life, fewer people, cleaner air, just beautiful and relaxing. We were pretty worn out from our packed schedule during the week, so after arriving we indulged in a long lunch overlooking Phewa Lake, then retired to spend happy hour in the Gurkha bar back at the hotel (Gurkhas were Nepali soldiers in the British army) and just generally lounged around our beautiful surroundings.

Good thing too, since the next morning we were up before dawn to watch the sun rise over the Himalayas from Sarangkot. At least there was milk tea.
And breathtaking views.

For our morning hike, we headed to the peak pictured here.
In the afternoon, we took a boat across the lake, then hiked up to the Peace Pagoda, then back down to the Tashiling Tibetan Refugee Camp. Despite the name, residents of the camp live better than many Nepali citizens - they have a successful craft business, monastery, school, and permanent structures (we're not talking about a tent camp here).The day was full of some serious hiking, and beautiful views. Good thing our first day and a half in Pokhara were so relaxing, because the next day, well, not so much.

Next: bandh!

2010-01-01T18:30:00.000-08:00

A Resolution?

As I bask in a day spent in my pajamas, a day following nearly 12 hours of sleep (seriously, I didn't roll out of bed until almost 3pm!), a day, most importantly, with nothing on my To Do List (ok, so I have a reminder to write my rent check, but that hardly counts), an idea hits me. Perhaps this year I will attempt one To Do List Free (TDLF) day a month. I love my To Do List, and I'm not sure if I have the willpower to enact TDLF, but I think it would be good for me. One true vacation day a month. It wouldn't necessarily have to be a day of sloth, but there would be some rules. No alarm clock. No scheduled items. No chores or errands. What do we think?

2010-01-01T02:23:00.000-08:00

The Aughts

Uff. I think every year in the past (too lazy to check archives) I've managed to avoid the drunken nostalgic post, on New Year's, if no other night, but tonight I feel compelled. The thing is, it's weird. I know I haven't yet been alive 3 decades, and yet somehow it seems weird to me that the beginning of this decade leap frogs an entire section of my life (grad school in atlanta). The beginning of the aughts is me living in clark tower on the north side of campus, then moving in with PC and AWB in my first 'big girl' apartment (I remember clearly thinking whoever thought we should be allowed to live with our friends was a genius!). More than one third of my life, to date, has been spent in college or grad school! Ridiculous! I know the 90s are supposed to be my decade, the decade when I became truly sentient, struggled through adolescence, etc. etc. But the aughts are when I figured out how to be grown-up. Ok, so probably, hopefully, I'll be figuring that out for the rest of my life, but I mean, the aughts are when I went through therapy and did two big geographic moves (mostly on my own) and became a doctor (eep!) and got a job (double eep!) and kind of started to think of myself as someone other than my parents' kid. Also, and this is important, if also egotistical, the aughts are when I finally figured out that I'm kind of awesome. What a nice place to start the teens.

Gender Identity and Sexual Preference

Had an interesting and enlightening conversation tonight with a somewhat butch lesbian. Who came out and reinforced something I've been thinking - it's challenging to be a straight butch. She said, I look at you, and the rather femme clothes you're wearing tonight (blue sleaveless dress, knee-high-high-heeled-boots, white cardigan) but I recognize that you don't carry yourself that way - you walk and take up space like a butch. And I don't know what someone like you, who doesn't like women, does.

You and me both, sister.

Because that's the thing, right? I like men. I'm quite comfortable in this statement. I want a family, children. Similarly comfortable. You know what other ideas make me comfortable? I want to be the breadwinner. I'm good at that. I'm going to continue to be good at that. I would make a good head of household. I'm not trying to reinforce stereotypes here, rather just say that I'm acting and living out a rather traditionally male stereotype. And, sadly, we haven't managed to advance enough as a society yet to generate a particularly large pool of men who are comfortable being and desire to be a primary parent and house-husband. A couple of my female friends are blessed with male partners who fit this description and they rock my world. But the pool from which to choose is pretty small. The pool of men who want these things, and also manage to see themselves as equally awesome (e.g., bringing something different, but equally important, to the relationship table) are diminishingly small. Bummer for me.

But such is life. And fan of compromise though I may be, this is one area where I'll be standing my ground.

Best of luck to you, and to me, in finding what you want, and what you deserve, in the decade to come. joyeux aneau. prospero ano nuevo. happy new year.

2009-12-29T17:54:00.000-08:00

I lurve this video! (via Feministing)

Back Up Your Birth Control has a handy guide on how and where to obtain EC.

2009-12-27T23:05:00.000-08:00

Nepal - Days 3 and 4

Wedding Day!

(these little fish featured in numerous ceremonies throughout the week)

Wednesday morning was the Buddhist ceremony, followed in the afternoon by the reception, for which we all received saris (and, fortunately, help tying them).

(so pink!)

The next morning we headed out to Swayambhu (aka, the monkey temple)

(Buddha monkey is my favorite)
We spent the afternoon in Patan, where my sister-in-law grew up.
We had dinner Thursday night at my in-laws' place, in a more 'private' reception (this reception still featured somewhere between 50 and 100 (or more) friends and relatives...it was difficult to guess the size of the crowd since we westerners were kept somewhat segregated...not for any particular reason, it was just clear that we had no idea what was going on, so we were shown to the living room and offered tea and food while others more actively mingled). Dinner started with the traditional milk tea, then the requisite round of 'rice wine' (aka moonshine), and then more food than any of us could possibly consume (rice, nuts, sour seeds that one sucked and then spit out, buffalo brain (!), more fried fish, fried egg, pumpkin curry, yogurt, aloo gobi, mutton, and probably a dozen other things I'm forgetting). After round one of eating (we didn't know at the time it was round one) we were invited up to the roof to sit around the fire and drink more wine and whiskey. When they brought up that the multi-course meal had just begun, we all apologized profusely about our complete inability to continue eating much more. Fortunately, I don't think the family was offended. I really hope not. But round two of food was particularly tricky - if you professed fondness for any particular dish, one of the female members of the family would magically appear with another spoonful for you!

Next: Pokhara

2009-12-27T01:14:00.000-08:00

Best Christmas gift ever!

Mom has been working on turning a lot of my old gymnastics t-shirts into a quilt. I knew about this, but we both sort of figured it would be a multi-year project. Surprise!

2009-12-14T12:48:00.001-08:00

For those of you who are always making fun of my home state, please refer to this map. You'll notice that WV prohibits marriage between first cousins, whereas, say, New York and California both allow it!

2009-12-09T16:04:00.000-08:00

Nepal - Days 1 and 2

Korean Air really manages to make flying more civilized.

Yeti Air, on the other hand...

Actually, we didn't fly Yeti Air, but who could resist that photo op? We took Guna Air for our Mountain Flight, an up close and personal view of the Himalaya Mountains. (Mount Everest is just to the right of the center of this picture)
Immediately before taking this flight, we posed for pictures with a ton of Nepali police in riot gear (mine wasn't one of the numerous cameras used, so you'll have to wait until someone sends me a copy of the photo). They were all assembled for some training flight over the mountains and were just hanging out, joking around, happy to pose with the crazy tourists. Good thing we jumped at this opportunity, since the police we saw that weekend, during the bandh, probably weren't in such a jovial mood.

We spent the afternoon in Bhaktapur
Many temples, beautifully, intricately carved wood, and, unfortunately, beggars.

That night we went to my sister-in-law's family shop to meet the parents, then had a lovely moonlit dinner outside.

Next up - wedding festivities!

2009-12-09T13:41:00.001-08:00

Well, at least my uterus has a strong sense of timing - Fair warning, this post is seriously TMI

I have no internal clock. I need an alarm clock for everyday of my life, and I never know what time it is without consulting my watch. My theory is this is why I'm not very sensitive to jet lag - given a few external clues (sunlight, or lack thereof, a meal) I can pretty easily convince myself of any time of day.

My uterus, though, is like clockwork. For most of my life I have had very regular periods, even without birth control pills. So yesterday, at the DC airport, I was particularly annoyed to discover that I had started my period, one day early. It wasn't until I got home and looked at the calendar that it occurred to me that with all the time zone crossing my body was actually in the future and my regular cycle was just on time.

2009-11-26T09:24:00.001-08:00

Our President makes me giggle (again)
(via Boing Boing)

Quote of the day: "As president, I believe that robotics can inspire young people to pursue science and engineering. And I also want to keep an eye on those robots in case they try anything." --Barack Obama, speaking to Washington D.C. schoolkids on Monday as part of his science education initiative. (Thanks, Aaron Ginoza!)

2009-11-18T22:14:00.001-08:00

Distance - psychological and geographic

My parents are a bit of a study in contradictions. Dad is loud and talkative in crowds and handles himself quite well among new people. Yet he has very few friends - it's almost like he made this conscious decision that grown-ups have families and perhaps write cards once a year to close friends from college, but that's about it. Mom, on the other hand, is painfully quiet and shy in groups, yet has several friends and is fairly good at making new friends.

I offer this background because somehow it eluded me how lonely Dad has been these past 2.5 weeks in Japan. To me, it seems just like normal. Sure, he's far away, and there's now a 17 hour time change between us, but we send e-mails and skype about once a week. We're in each other's lives about as much as usual.

This morning he skyped me at 4am his time. He isn't jet-lagged or having trouble sleeping - he just got up to use the bathroom and, like a good nerd, took a quick glance at his laptop before heading back to bed. He noticed I was online and skyped me.

I was chatting with Mom about how sweet but crazy that was and she said she thinks he misses us terribly.

Well, duh. I mean, of course he misses us. But like I said, my read of these past few weeks have been par for the course - various family members in various locations and time zones, keeping in touch through technology. But suddenly it became clear to me that his read of the past few weeks have been 1) being away from his wife for the longest period of time since, I think, they were married and 2) getting home in time to spend one week with her before she leaves for another two weeks on the other side of the world and several time zones away. Even if we do get to chat often (which is fairly unlikely, because even in a swanky tourist hotel electricity and internet will probably be iffy) we *feel* far away.

And there's also Dad's lack of friends thing. Of course, coworkers are often a poor substitute for real friends and family, but, for example, I wasn't lonely or particularly homesick while in CO because I spent practically every waking minute with my colleagues. But that's not just a poor substitute for Dad - that's no substitute. He's spent the past 40 years crafting his life such that his family are about the only people he's close to. No wonder he's lonely. Poor guy.

2009-11-15T14:06:00.001-08:00

More Nepal Stuff

Well, the bad news is the Maoists took over a government building a few days ago. The good news is the protests still appear to be relatively peaceful. And the I-guess-it's-good news is my sister in law is totally unphased - she says, yeah, that's pretty much Monday in Kathmandu. So I guess I will follow her lead and try not to worry about it too much.

It helps that I have totally awesome friends offering up their relatives in neighboring countries should the shit really hit the fan.

2009-11-11T21:29:00.000-08:00

Faaaabulous.

Kathmandu, Nov 8 (PTI) Maoists' supremo Prachanda has warned that his party may declare a "parallel government" in Nepal if the ruling coalition fails to address the key dispute over "civilian supremacy", which has forced them to take to the streets.

Prachanda, who headed Nepal's first post-royal government, said even as they had withdrawn their plan to announce "autonomous states" the party may declare a "parallel government" if it was forced to move into the next phase of its protest to dislodge the alliance, the Nepalnews online reported.

Responding to the stepped up security and threats to mobilise the army to maintain law and order in the face of the Maoists agitation, Prachanda warned the government that they would be compelled to take up arms if force was used to quell the protest.

I leave for Kathmandu in 17 days.

2009-11-07T21:30:00.001-08:00

And I was in such a good mood...
(via Ezra)

An amendment, expected to pass, added to the healthcare bill:

The amendment will prohibit federal funds for abortion services in the public option. It also prohibits individuals who receive affordability credits from purchasing a plan that provides elective abortions. However, it allows individuals, both who receive affordability credits and who do not, to separately purchase with their own funds plans that cover elective abortions. It also clarifies that private plans may still offer elective abortions.

You know what? Just fucking make it illegal. Because either abortion is legal, and is a medical procedure, between a woman and her doctor, and not subject to arbitrary legislation, or it's illegal. Emphasis in the above paragraph is mine. I am, sadly, not surprised by the first bit. Of course pandering politicians had to assure anti-choicers that their precious tax dollars wouldn't be spent on that horrible procedure for bad women. But to go another step and prohibit certain individuals (those individuals who, by definition, are least able to afford an abortion - but hey! I'm sure having a kid is cheaper, right?) to prohibit those individuals from choosing a plan (NOT the public option) that covers abortion? But really, why does even that surprise me? We spent the past eight years (and another eight under Bush I) forbidding NGOs that receive federal funding from even talking about abortion.

2009-11-07T19:36:00.000-08:00

Books and Exploration

I've been getting out in the city a bit again (new intern = new buddy for city adventures). Last night we went to Mission Muralismo, a celebration of decades of artwork in the Mission district at the de Young Museum. The music was great, the projections of the murals were fabulous, but since we weren't willing to spring for a museum ticket, we couldn't really get beyond the lobby. So instead we had a couple of drinks and I impulse bought Museum Legs, a collection of essays on why museums matter and why people get bored in them. Then we headed out for dinner, passing Green Apple Books, where the intern insisted I needed a copy of Tales of the City. The problem now being that I'm only about a third of the way through Settling Accounts, I'm still not enamoured with it, but I feel obligated to finish it (ocd) and I have these two shiny new books I'd rather be reading!

This afternoon we biked nine or ten miles all over Inner and Outer Richmond and Golden Gate Park, led around by the SF Bicycle Coalition. In theory, we were trekking around looking at examples of Reid Brothers architecture, but really the natural views were much better!

2009-11-05T22:35:00.000-08:00

Nice.

2009-10-27T20:34:00.000-07:00

Um...why does Amazon need my social security number before I can claim a prize in their contest??

(b) required to submit his/her social security number or tax payer ID number to us in order to claim the prize.

2009-10-19T11:56:00.001-07:00

Want. Too bad they're out of stock.

2009-10-17T22:51:00.000-07:00

This Guy

A coworker and I were reminiscing a couple of weeks ago, and I was reminded of this guy. This guy I met in Berlin. This guy who, frankly, was probably my first love. Not the sort of grown-up love I like to think myself capable of these days, but certainly the sort of impassioned, puppy love I could muster at 14. The story goes like this:

Mom and I were in Germany for a gymnastics competition, and all the competitors wore ID cards around their necks, with different colors to identify different countries. This ID card got you on all forms of public transportation for free, which was great, but also provided easy conversation starters, as you knew who else was American or from an English-speaking country. We were in the Pergamon Museum, and I noticed we were just behind this guy and his dad - they were always just leaving rooms as we were entering them. Finally we walked into one to find this guy and his Dad paused to consult their map. We walked over to see if they needed help and start the same small talk we'd been engaging in all week - which gym are you with? where are you from? staying in Europe after the competition? This guy, J, traced a line on the map with an index finger featuring a class ring with a green stone and a fingernail splashed the same shade. We made our small talk, then went our respective ways.

Later that night was the opening ceremony. Truly amazing - held in the same Olympic Stadium that once held Hitler and Jesse Owens. Also truly never-ending. Many teams bailed before the end, but my coach, true to his nature, refused to let us leave, insisting we show respect. Which is how we ended up adopting J for the evening. He wandered away from his team for a bit to trade with other countries (it was common practice throughout the week to swap t-shirts, jackets, pins, hats, etc. between international teams) and when he got back his team had already headed back to the hotel. So he wandered around looking for other Americans and found a familiar face from the museum.

He and I and Mom and a handful of other members of my team ended up being practically the last people to leave the stadium, thanks to one of my coaches leaving his bag behind and having to go back and search for it. So by the time we finally boarded the train back to the hotel it was the last train of the night, which, evidently, didn't run all the way to our hotel. So we found ourselves stuck, somewhere in the middle of Berlin, in the middle of the night. We walked for a while (brilliant, since none of us had a map or spoke German) before finally giving up and asking for directions at a hotel. The poor concierge was horrified by the crazy Americans and promptly called us a cab.

By the time we finally did make it back to our hotel J and I were fast friends. We stayed up most of the rest of the night talking. For the next ten days he was the last person I spoke to at night and the first in the morning (besides Mom). My coach enforced a curfew on our team, but J's did not, so he would go buy ice cream for the two of us after I was confined to the hotel and we would sit in the hallway outside my room and talk. I was his wake-up call and every morning he joined Mom and I for breakfast, even if his team's schedule meant he could have slept in.

He gave me a letter the night before we both left Germany, made me promise not to read it until I was on the train. I carried that letter in my wallet for years, and it's the thing I was most upset to lose when that wallet was stolen in college.

He drove a dozen hours to spend the following Thanksgiving with me, and I took the train to visit him twice while in Boston visiting family and colleges. In between we had a standing date, once a week, to spend an hour on the phone and we mailed a bound journal back and forth to keep track of our letters. He got me drunk for the first time, off four shots of goldschlager. But otherwise our relationship was incredibly chaste.

By the time I left for college we had drifted apart, and we've only spoken at two random intervals since then. I don't know where he is or what he's up to these days.

I like to think that I did not take him, or our friendship, for granted. I'm fairly sure that I did not. But I did take that level of intimacy for granted, in the way all kids do. I needed the clarity of hindsight to see it for what it was, to recognize the uniqueness and the closeness that we shared for a few years.

So, J, who my mother always called worthless, if you're out there somewhere, I hope you know that you're thought of fondly.

2009-10-16T19:51:00.000-07:00

Books!

I've been plowing my way through more issues of DMZ, which, seriously, why aren't you reading it right now? Luckily for me, Green Apple Books has used copies for half price, so every few weeks I wander up and buy the next one. Which, of course, I devour in a day or two.

In between issues I've read:

Virginity or Death! A collection of (slightly out of date) articles and essays by Katha Pollitt. She covers the usual range of topics near and dear to my heart (feminism, civil rights, abortion rights, problems with Republicans). Mostly I found myself smiling and nodding along, but I have to admit that she is a slightly less funny, less witty version of Molly Ivins. On the other hand, she provides the best, most crystallized response I've heard yet to arguments that vaccinating your kid against HPV will encourage them to have sex - so if they do have sex, death is a fitting punishment? (hence the title of the collection)

And I started Return Engagement, the first in Harry Turtledove's Settling Accounts trilogy. I'll probably make it to the end, since I'm a little ocd about finishing books once I start them, but so far I'm rather unimpressed. It's an alternate history tale, but one that I'm, admittedly, having a bit of trouble following (probably because I'm not tremendously engaged). It's the beginning of WWII, but America is distracted by civil war, round II. Or maybe III. They keep alluding to the Great War (aka, WWI), and how the United and Confederate States were fighting each other then too. Also, the US president is a socialist, and currently the Confederate states are kicking ass, because the socialist US ran out of money to build things like tanks and guns. Color me unimpressed.

Also, the kindle may have many positive features (not the least of which is conversation starter with cute guys on the bus) but one downside is that when a book introduces a bazillion characters, it's challenging to flip backwards and refresh on an individual character's storyline.

2009-10-16T19:13:00.000-07:00

"That's a socialist mop"
(our President makes me giggle - via Ezra)

"Another way of putting it is when, you know, I'm busy and Nancy [Pelosi is] busy with our mop cleaning up somebody else’s mess -- we don’t want somebody sitting back saying, you're not holding the mop the right way. (Applause.) Why don’t you grab a mop, why don’t you help clean up. (Applause.) You're not mopping fast enough. (Laughter.) That's a socialist mop. (Laughter and applause.) Grab a mop -- let’s get to work."

2009-10-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

Oh Rockit Room

You host my favorite ukulele-ist (ukulele-er?) and have reasonably priced beer, but when you also host the likes of this guy, well, it makes me feel a bit dirty contributing money to your coffers. Sigh. I am disappointed.

2009-10-11T20:58:00.000-07:00

Fairness

I considered calling this post "Conservatives want to spend more on illegal immigrants than liberals" but decided that was snark at the expense of accuracy. According to this article in the LA Times, a Congressional oversight committee has found that new regulations requiring stricter documentation checks to prove citizenship or legal status before qualifying for healthcare have actually cost $16.6 million. These new rules have caught 8 illegal aliens. So a little over $2 million spent to catch each one. But thank goodness we got those freeloaders out of the system! Surely that will save us tons of money!

This obsession with fairness, at this stage in the game (paying for healthcare, college, taxes) completely befuddles me. Now is when life is suddenly supposed to be fair? Where was all this concern about fairness when the topic was about poverty or institutional racism and sexism or all the big problems that get us to the point where people can't afford to pay for insurance or find jobs? Hell, Glenn Beck has been arguing that 'social justice' is a bad word! (ok, phrase)

Again, it all just strikes me as hateful and small-minded. Talking about level playing fields and justice in terms of access to opportunities is whining, but demanding fairness in the tax code and damning people who can't afford insurance to illness and death is the American way? Seriously? We're the Greatest Nation (TM) and we're willing to sacrifice hardworking citizens just to make sure that not a single person freeloads? And who are we to even decide that any person is a freeloader? We don't know their story. We don't know what drove them to this place. Or what similar set of circumstances might find us, or someone we cared about, in a similar place.

How is it patriotic to consider our resources so meager, our neighborliness so lacking, our charity so tight-fisted, that we're willing to spend millions of dollars just to make sure someone doesn't have access to a doctor that they didn't pay for?

2009-10-11T11:15:00.000-07:00

Happy Coming Out Day!

I'm sitting on my couch, watching Outrage, with mixed feelings. On the one hand, coming out is obviously deeply personal, and is something individuals should do on their own terms. On the other hand, as Harvey Milk encouraged,

Gay brothers and sisters,... You must come out. Come out... to your parents... I know that it is hard and will hurt them but think about how they will hurt you in the voting booth! Come out to your relatives... come out to your friends... if indeed they are your friends. Come out to your neighbors... to your fellow workers... to the people who work where you eat and shop... come out only to the people you know, and who know you. Not to anyone else. But once and for all, break down the myths, destroy the lies and distortions. For your sake. For their sake. For the sake of the youngsters who are becoming scared by the votes from Dade to Eugene.

The targets in Outrage are outed specifically for hypocrisy - they are politicians who have consistently voted against, as one man describes it, the community they expect to hide them.

If you don't have HBO, the LA Times has a good review, and you can save a copy on Netflix.

2009-10-10T18:56:00.000-07:00

Megan's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day*

So I've been working on this thing for work and the deadline has slid around a bit and I keep thinking I can finally mark it off my To Do List and it keeps clinging to my To Do List and other members of my team have tons of work to do and I have less than tons so I've been picking up some slack, which is fine, and good for me, even, but the bottom line is I've spent the past 48 hours feeling chained to my apartment and laptop and internet connection (ok, so I could have gone somewhere else with my laptop and a wifi connection, but details!) and details of this project are really pushing my Type A buttons and I couldn't get my fucking code to work and I'm going stir crazy and I'm dissatisfied with the finished product** and bah!

So that's where I was around 4:30 today when I decided enough is enough, send the damn thing off, grab a shower and get the hell out of this apartment. In an effort to cheer myself up and snap out of this bad mood I got 'dressed up' (cute skirt and sweater, new boots, make-up, etc.) and planned to go explore a new neighborhood. I wasn't feeling too psyched about exploring, but knew continuing to stare at these four walls wasn't going to help...then I sat, in the cold, and waited 45 minutes for a bus. That sure as hell didn't make me any less grumpy. So I gave up and headed toward my local coffee shop (of course, at that point, the bus rounded the corner, and I could have run for it, but really?).

Some time spent sipping hot cocoa and reading my book and ogling cute boys put something of a dent in my mood. Now I'm back in my pajamas with a four-cheese-cornmeal-crust pizza in the oven and chocolate chocolate chip ice cream for dessert and naked Viggo Mortenson for second dessert. Here's hoping that makes it possible to wake up fresh and un-cranky tomorrow. Bah humbug!

*it's not actually that bad, I'm just crankypants, and feel like throwing a bit of a childish temper tantrum, so referencing a children's book seems appropriate
**that's me being crankypants - the finished product is fine

2009-10-02T21:59:00.000-07:00

The best thing about this clip is the use of the word 'sycophant.'

2009-09-28T22:19:00.000-07:00

Being Me

As PC rather sarcastically reminded me, I don't exactly have trouble making friends. What I do have, and seem to forget, since so far it's only rolled around twice in six years, is general anxiety and self-doubt when making all new friends. That's probably not unique or interesting. When it happened in ATL I opined all sorts of things - I'm older, this class of individuals will grow up to be my professional colleagues and that's weird and stressful, etc. And here we are again. I've got a pretty good leg up here on the west coast - three truly wonderful friends from my past, a handful of acquaintances, and several introductions to new folks via old friends. I'm hardly starting from scratch. And yet, once again, here I find myself coming home from perfectly lovely evenings replaying conversations in my head, fretting over first impressions. This tracks with my general anxiety and stress levels, so of course, it ebbs and flows. And, my previous sample size of one tells me, eventually it will simply fade away. But in the meantime.

Which is why this evenings is noteworthy. Pizza and beer with old acquaintance turned new friend and no post-evening fretting. No replaying. And no, as my therapist used to call it, putting the lid on. I was me, full force, no filters, in all my space-occupying, voice-carrying, opinionated, nerdiness. And it was really, really fun. So that's my story.

2009-09-18T16:19:00.001-07:00

These are the moments when I love my Type A personality

I don't know what it's like for y'all, but I have a rather binary relationship with writing. Either I got it* or I don't. After a gazillion years of school, I honestly still haven't figured out how to flip the writing switch, I just have to hang out and be ready and wait for it to happen. When the switch is on, the writing flows and the editing comes naturally and it's not even remotely painful. When the switch is off, it's like pulling teeth, and it's essentially a lost cause, since everything I type will be shit and will have to be re-written anyway.

Now, this is a gamble, because if you're hanging out, waiting for the muse to strike you, and a deadline is looming, well, you may be in trouble. Which is why I work on things so far in advance. I love the luxury of waiting for my writing moods.

I'm working on a report for work, and the thing is, as my old roommate used to say, a shitty first draft. Now, this is a necessary stage of practically all writing (in my experience), but it's a particularly painful stage. I've been avoiding this report for days - walking around with it in my bag, setting it out on my desk, but not actually working on it. Every time I read it my brain would go, "My eyes! My eyes!" But today, lo and behold, I sat down and edited and wrote and it just came streaming out and it's not shit. It's not done yet either, but excellent progress was made. I'm currently 19 days out from my deadline. This is why I love my Type A personality.

*I'm not saying I'm a great writer, because I'm not. But, especially by hard science standards, I'm a very passable, sometimes prolific, writer.

2009-09-16T20:27:00.000-07:00

So Angry

Yes, I know, as a public healther I'm supposed to be writing reasoned arguments about why healthcare reform is so critical (it is), why we need a public option (we do), etc. But I'll be honest - I just haven't had the stomach to follow this debate in the sort of detail it deserves. Every time I click through some story about healthcare I can't stop myself from reading before I hit the ensuing comments, and then my little brain tries to crawl out of my ears.

A week or so ago Facebook had one of those days when everyone changes their status to reflect some issue, and many of my friends had up that no one should die because of lack of healthcare and no one should go broke paying for healthcare. A friend of a friend (someone I don't know) commented on the status that no one dies because they can't get healthcare - it's illegal to refuse treatment. And if he has to go broke paying for cancer treatment or something, then that's the price he has to pay. He'll declare bankruptcy and move on. As always, I was floored. How did this person and I live in the same world? Granted, I spent six years at a public health school, so my exposure to this issue is a little biased. But still. How can anyone seriously think that no one ever dies because of lack of healthcare? I mean, he's sort of right - it is illegal to deny care in an emergency room. Guess what? Emergency rooms tend not to be equipped to administer long term chemotherapy or regular doses of cholesterol medication or insulin.

And that's fabulous that this random internet guy is happy to go bankrupt to pay for his hypothetical cancer treatment. Would his hypothetical kids feel the same way when their house was foreclosed on and they had to live in the street?

It's really not that hard to think rationally about this - how come so many people seem completely incapable (unwilling) to do so? Is it really possible that all those people out there protesting so angrily against healthcare reform have both a) always been satisfied with their healthcare and b) never, not even once, known a single person whose healthcare was inadequate?

And how come so many people are so angry about the prospect of providing care for others? First there was the guy with the gun, then there's Joe Wilson's outburst*, and a million other examples in between.

I'm not saying there isn't a place for anger in social discourse - it seems perfectly reasonable to me to be really angry over a US Attorney General who thinks torture is ok (just, you know, as an example from the crazy, unreasonably angry left we heard so much about over the past 8 years). But being this angry over healthcare reform, not the absence of healthcare, or at the fucking insurance companies who are simultaneously killing us and bankrupting us, but this frothing-at-the-mouth angry at the attempt to provide reasonable care to more people, just seems so hateful to me. I can't wrap my brain around it. I know we're all broke, and we're all scared, but what happened to us all being in this together? Is the possibility that your neighbor might get lifted up just a smidge, might have just the tiniest bit of pressure taken off by being provided more affordable (or ANY) healthcare, while yours, say, stays the same, really so horrible? I know I'm a Democrat, so I'm already all "yay! taxes!" but even if your neighbor being able to afford both rent and a doctor's visit for her kid translates into a slight increase in taxes (which isn't even currently on the table but is probably inevitable) would that really kill you?

I've been trying to figure out how to verbalize all this, and then Sid goes and does it for me:

If a person brings a gun to a debate, that says something about them. It doesn't say, "I believe in the right to gun ownership". It says, "I will intimidate you if I don't get what I want. I have force, and I want you to contemplate the idea that I will use it to get my way". Similarly, it's hard... really hard... for me to hold in my head that a person is a good person and simultaneously hold an image of them using the words "survival of the fittest" in discussions about public health care. If you can really argue that people deserve to sicken and die for your low tax rates, what does that say about your character, your priorities, your values?

I want to be open minded. I want to be embracing of diverse viewpoints. And I know I'm going to get hammered for it, but I have to say--- there is a point where I can't, I can't treat you like a moral agent because I can't believe you'll treat me in kind. If you chose to be ignorant AND vocal about politics, it tells me you can't be bothered to care about how you are affecting other people. If you chose to actively punish people by denying them health care or a fair wage or the opportunity to pursue happiness in the way our founding father's intended, all in the interests of protecting your low tax bracket, that tells me you actually believe you're better than other human beings because you happened into better circumstances.

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? So please, stop burying your argument in claims that socialism is scary and evil, or that Big Government is bad, and embrace what we can all already see. You think you're better and more deserving than whomever you consider to be 'other.' At least then we can have an honest debate. Of course, when you predictably trot out some argument that your hard earned tax dollars should never pay for goods and services for those whom you consider lazy I will be forced to a) remind you that health*** is not a good or service but a right and b) point you to this article about the folly of using wealth as a proxy for effort and worth. But that's a post for another night.

*the comments on that story kill me too - despite a fact check, right there in the cnn article, that the proposed bill won't provide healthcare to illegal immigrants**, tons of people are happy to pile on the "Obama is lying" bandwagon. I have disagreed with plenty of my presidents (this one included) on plenty of topics, but I like to think that when faced with facts I don't simply choose to ignore them.

**and nevermind that providing healthcare to illegal immigrants is the right thing to do, the cheaper thing to do, and the healthier for you and I thing to do - does it not occur to people who prepares their food, cleans their houses, does their laundry, and cares for their children?

***yes, I sneakily switched from healthcare to health, but let's all agree that one can't have the latter without a minimum of the former, ok?

2009-09-16T19:52:00.000-07:00

We're pretty adorable, if I do say so myself.

2009-09-15T12:44:00.000-07:00

Mint is worried about me. Apparently I usually spend $493 on travel and in the past 30 days I have spent $2,967.95! (that includes 4 roundtrip plane tickets - me to ATL, Mom and Dad out here, and me to Nepal - and one five day car rental. Actually, not bad for all that travel!)

2009-09-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

Stardust

For serious? We're supposed to believe that Yvaine falls in love with the guy who drags her on a leash and ties her to a tree? That's not romance - that's gross.

2009-09-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

The thing about a hectic weekend is not so much the hectic-ness or even the sleep deprivation. It's how hard it is to pause and be present. Yesterday I spent the day riding bikes through Calistoga with the parents. By this afternoon I was being picked up by my old roommate at the airport in ATL and ordering room service at the Four Season (when did I turn into That Girl?) and getting drunk and dancing in uncomfortable shoes with old friends at a really beautiful wedding. Tomorrow I'll be back in Napa (hopefully) in time for lunch with the folks. Crazy.

2009-09-03T07:43:00.000-07:00

Travel Perfectionism

I should elaborate just a smidge on what I mean by my and Mom's perfectionist tendencies. What I mean is that Mom is already stressing over the possibility of getting back to the States post-trip, finding out about some awesome tourist thing we didn't do (say, taking a helicopter tour of Everest) and being so racked with regret as to essentially undo any enjoyment of the trip. I'm on board with the motivation that Nepal is incredibly far away, and if one is going to travel that far, one should get out and do some exploring. But I'm also on board with the idea that simply being there is going to be awesome and anything else is just icing. I tried to propose this perspective to Mom - it hadn't occurred to her, but I think over the next three months I might be able to bring her around to it.

I'm trying to be sympathetic - this trip means my Mom is leaving her Mom, who she moved up to assisted living near their house in WV a couple of years ago, for a rather extended period of time. Which stresses both of them out. Mom is an only child and views leaving Grandma as an extremely high price to pay, so her perspective on this trip is that she has to wring every possible experience out of it, to make the emotional cost worth it. I say that's a lot of pressure to put on one little trip.

Books!

I've been riding public transportation to and from work lately (90 minutes to two hours one way) so I've been reading. A lot.

I finished Without You, and while I respect what Rapp is trying to do here (the honest display of imperfections is pretty classic therapy behavior) it's the sort of book that only a huge, huge fan could love. It made me a little squirmy - I think I prefer knowing less about the people whose work I admire.

Next up was Open Veins of Latin America, by Eduardo Galeano. I picked up a free copy somewhat randomly, then found out that Chavez gave a copy to Obama. Neat! I have to confess, not won over by this one. I think it was mainly the style - I have a hard time treating something written in passionate, flowery prose as historically accurate and reliable. Unfair, I know. And Galeano is certainly an amazing writer. But I think this wasn't the source for me to learn about the horrific history of Latin America. On the other hand, when I mentioned to my boss that I was having a hard time turning off my skepticism while reading this one, he said that was the right impulse and to keep my skeptic dial turned to high. I'm currently too ignorant of Latin American history to offer much constructive criticism on that front. Maybe in another year or two...

On the flight back from Bogota I turned back to my kindle and started The Sanctuary, by Raymond Khoury. Another pure popcorn novel, as usual, involving secret societies, and, this time, the quest for immortality. Entertaining enough - chase scenes, fights, exotic locales. The usual.

Next up was The City of Ember, by Jeanne DuPrau, a kids/young adult novel, featuring the standard early-teen hero and heroine and adults who range from villains to well-intended but useless to a few who are all right but marginal. This one actually hooked me enough to keep me up past my bedtime, though I have to say the ending was somewhat unsatisfying. I'll probably invest in the rest of the series...eventually.

Most recently I devoured DMZ Volume I, by Brian Wood (thanks Boing Boing!) - a most excellent graphic novel set in Manhattan, which has become a no man's land in the midst of an American civil war. Told from the perspective of a photography intern turned full fledged journalist, lots of good commentary on the current state of society, media, etc. They're up to volume 7, all of which I eventually plan on purchasing, preferably from my friendly neighborhood Geen Apple Books, just as soon as my feet can take me there.

Technically I've also been reading The Pragmatic Programmer, but that's psuedo-for-work, so, meh.

2009-09-02T23:33:00.001-07:00

Family

I don't feel like I've been working all that hard/all that many hours, but somehow, I haven't had the time/energy to post anything here. Which I guess is a good thing, with a new job, right? To be, evidently, working like a crazy person, but not necessarily feel like it? Anyway, that's the story I'm telling myself.

So, Mom and Dad arrive tomorrow! For Dad's 60th Birthday/Retirement California Wine Country Extravaganza! Cue the music and balloons! Actually, hold the music and balloons - because it's a surprise! Shhhh....obviously, Dad now knows he's boarding a plane in the morning headed to SF, but beyond that, he's totally in the dark. About which Mom and I have been giggling for months. (she's in on the secret) Right. So Mom and Dad arrive tomorrow afternoon. Friday we hang out in the city as long as they please, then I drive them up to Napa. Saturday I drive back up to Napa to spend the day riding bikes through wine country with them (I know, oh woe is me and my tough life). Sunday, I wake up at dawn and fly to Atlanta for a friend's wedding. Monday, I wake up, again at dawn, fly back to SF, drive back to Napa, and pick up Mom and Dad. Tuesday I take them back to the airport, then head back to work. Whew!

I know, crazy. But the thing is, you can re-schedule neither a 60th birthday, nor a wedding. And it's possible to do both. A little nutty, perhaps, but when have you known me not to want my cake and eat it too?

In other family and travel news, we have booked our tickets to Nepal! I officially leave the weekend after Thanksgiving, and travel via DC and Seoul to Kathmandu. Yes, because I hate the planet, I am flying east, across the country, to meet my family in DC, then back west to Asia. Look - flying makes me nervous, and if I'm going to spend 14+ hours in a little metal tube over an ocean I'm going to be sitting next to my mommy, ok? At least for the outward bound trip. On the way back I get to do the reverse (Kathmandu, Seoul, DC, SF) all by my lonesome. And on my birthday!

Already many of the lessons of Ireland are coming back to me - something about traveling always throws a lot of my family baggage into relief. For example, Mom is already stressing about our itinerary and whether she'll get to do everything she wants. The control freak and perfectionist aspects of her personality feel so...familiar. I definitely fall into a lot of the same traps - I try to appreciate where I am when I'm there, but, for example, I definitely got all cranky in Bogota when I thought I was going to miss out on the chance to pick up some local gifts for the family*. And again in DC when my perfect schedule, timed to the hour, got thrown out the window. I like to think that I recognize when these buttons are being pushed and I'm being unreasonably cranky and that I try to snap out of these moods as quickly as possible. But it is so clear that I get this particular trait from Mom. The good, and bad, news is that she triggers the exact opposite response in me - the crankier and more controlling she gets the more lalala everything is lovely and I'm just so happy to be here! I get.

Also, apparently, she and my brother already had a fight about when we need to leave for the airport in Seoul (we get a one night layover, with the price of a hotel and transportation to/from the airport included in the ticket). Already! We don't leave until after Thanksgiving! Nevermind the way far in advance bickering, we're all adults, perfectly capable of managing our own transportation. Yes, it would be ridiculous, but Mom, brother, and I could all head to the airport whenever we damn well pleased, at three distinct times if we felt like it! Besides, he's the one with a wedding and a (potentially pissed off, if he screwed up the travel plans) bride to get to. That's his problem, not ours.

Right. Making the mental note now to work hard to avoid being go-between and managing relationship between Mom and brother. We are all adults. I think that will make a nice mantra for this particular trip (even if we don't all act like it).

*this is not at all altruistic - growing up, my aunt was always (and continues to be) the cool relative who travels to awesome and random foreign locales. Her gifts are always unique and traditionally come with little yellow post-it notes telling the story of where this particular item came from. I'm very much looking forward to becoming the newest family member to give really cool gifts with excellent accompanying stories at holidays.

2009-08-17T23:58:00.000-07:00

WTF Indeed

"I don't understand why the people who have stuff are enraged and the people who have nothing are warm and hopeful."

Speaking of those town hall meetings, throughout eight years of an administration that demonstrably broke US laws, liberals were consistently called treasonous for daring to say aloud that, um, the President is not above the law. Meanwhile, we have people doing this, and they get to cling to the patriot label?

Yes, the gentleman in the video clip is exercising his Second Amendment right (does one person count as a well regulated militia?). Yay for him. What isn't addressed in the clip is that his sign says, "It's time to water the tree of liberty." The particular Thomas Jefferson quote that's being referenced is, "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time, with the blood of patriots and tyrants." Call me crazy, but that sounds a lot like threatening the President (or others or himself). This is about healthcare people. And we were the crazy angry ones?

2009-08-05T08:47:00.000-07:00

Traveling makes me cranky.

Evidently. Or, probably more accurately, traveling + editing a presentation the morning before delivering it + not getting enough sleep makes me cranky. I've been feeling pretty smug about sailing through the past 4 weeks of airports and taxis and time changes and actually knowing what city I'm in and what time it is, but frankly, I'm ready for about 12 hours in my own bed.

I sniped at my boss this morning.

It wasn't a big deal, but it also wasn't me at my best.

I know people, and my team in particular, do things at the last minute, and I need to just breathe and go with it, and I am making progress...but my type A personality works for me precisely because it allows me more time to go out and have fun. I was mentally 90% done with this presentation 2 weeks ago for a reason. And I like going to conferences because I like attending sessions and, you know, learning stuff! I had my week all mapped out - a couple of hours to fine tune the presentation, a reasonable number of interesting-looking sessions, and evenings free to catch up with the zillion and one people I know in DC. And I also knew it was a pipe dream. But today the lack of ownership of my own time is starting to wear on me. So I sniped.

2009-07-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

A Good Night

finally, Finally, FINALLY sent off drafts of our three papers to our discussants tonight. After much hurry-up-and-waiting and then marathon editing and four hours of sleep and thank goodness the boss foresaw the nearing end and headed out a few hours ago to buy beer and who needs food when there's liquid dinner?

That's pretty much the state of my brain at the moment.

Learned a good lesson in patience today...I think...I hope. I guess I'll have to wait for feedback from coworker to find out if my sleep-deprived-punchiness bled through my attempt at professional-we-all-have-to-learn persona.

So this is the part of the job I was kind of nervous about. The no boundaries (sharing a one bedroom apartment with boss and intern), working all hours (until 3am and then starting again at 7:30 this morning) part. And maybe, probably, it's the liquid dinner and the relief about finally wrapping up this part of the project, but the voice in my head is pretty loudly proclaiming that no, this is the part of the job that fits. And perhaps a day will come when it no longer does, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

So celebratory beers were consumed and music was played and travel stories were told and I sat and thought, life is good.

2009-07-23T19:46:00.001-07:00

Traveling

I forgot to pack my travel journal on this trip. To the pile of papers and books labeled, for weeks, Take to Colombia! I somehow failed to add my narrow book with the sunflower on the cover. I bought it when I was 14, the summer I (finally*!) headed to Europe for the first time. That summer Mom and I spent ten days in Berlin, primarily for gymnastics, before meeting up with Dad and brother in Frankfurt, then a week in Paris, and several days each in Rome and Florence. On that trip I mainly filled the pages with dry daily itineraries of the places we visited with the occasional dip into puppy love over a boy I met in Berlin.

Last summer I again filled pages with copious notes on museums and restaurants and a list of all the things I had taken pictures of in Dublin, but also all the things I was figuring out about my Mom and I. Bits of my personality that clearly came from her, others that were clearly in reaction to her, and a million family baggage things. It was wonderful.

This trip has been so filled with work, I honestly haven't paused much to be present and reflect. But tonight especially I find myself missing those lined pages. I'm pushing myself to be more courageous on this trip, which is a good thing. My intern is pretty fearless, actually dangerously so, but the two of us seem to make a reasonably balanced pair when out exploring. I'm still not entirely convinced that I'm cut out for this, but I'm trying not to cast my mind too much in the future...I'll cross those other daunting bridges when I get to them**.

*yes, I know this 'finally' makes me sound like a privileged asshole, which I pretty much am. But I grew up hearing my parents' stories of multiple Europe trips - they both went on various school trips and spent an entire summer there for their honeymoon, plus later Dad had business trips to England and they took my brother when he was two. So I begged to be taken to Europe pretty much as soon as I knew the word.

**I said all along that of the places my job was most likely to send me, I hoped to go to Bogota first. I figured it was a good way to get my feet wet on this whole traveling thing. We have local hosts and it's a major city with potable water and reliable internet. And I have to say I've felt pretty good about it - if I'm being totally honest, I was worried that landing in a new, potentially scary place after a full day of flying and sleep deprivation would send me tumbling back down the anxiety rabbit hole. But I've been pretty ok. But I've also had plenty of diversions - delicious restaurants, parks, hell, a shopping mall showing Harry Potter! And while my boss and intern were out of town I kept myself entertained at night watching tv shows online. All of which starts me to wondering what it will be like working in other, less developed cities. How does one entertain oneself without a reliable internet connection? What to do once the sun goes down and the electricity clicks off? How to keep the anxiety at bay?

2009-07-22T15:47:00.000-07:00

This graph (and the ideas behind it) should be taught in schools. It never ceases to amaze me how many people don't know that working full time at minimum wage results in living below the poverty level*. My liberal, hippy parents encouraged me to do the math myself when I started a minimum wage job in high school.

The two arguments that always get trotted out whenever the minimum wage is discussed are: a) Unemployment will rise! and b) only teenagers and people supplementing their income earn minimum wage - it was never meant to provide an actual living and cover the cost of things like rent and groceries.

First, currently 30 out of 50 states already have a state minimum wage higher than the federal minimum wage and, prior to the current economic crisis, none of their job markets collapsed. If necessary, an increase in minimum wage can be accompanied by tax credits or other incentives to help out truly small businesses.

Second, the Department of Labor Statistics reported that for 2008 24.5% of those earning the minimum wage were 16 to 19 years old. This certainly does not constitute a majority and although this group obviously does include high school kids working summers and weekends and living at home, it also includes adults who may indeed be supporting themselves (and possibly others). Or at least attempting to. We may never know precisely what portion of those working for minimum wage jobs have other sources of income/support and which are relying solely on their hourly wage to cover rent, utilities, and groceries, but to assume the former constitutes a majority is clearly inaccurate.

*of course, the poverty level itself is a huge farce, based on Department of Agriculture recommendations regarding the minimal nutrition required a day to keep a person alive**. Almost from the beginning of its creation the FPL needed an overhaul, but no administration wants to do that because, by definition, it 'creates' more poor people. The government acknowledges this by setting the guidelines for various social programs at 150% and 200% the FPL.

**Orshansky based her poverty thresholds on the economy food plan — the cheapest of four food plans developed by the Department of Agriculture. The actual combinations of foods in the food plans, devised by Agriculture Department dietitians using complex procedures, constituted nutritionally adequate diets; the Agriculture Department described the economy food plan as being "designed for temporary or emergency use when funds are low." (Orshansky also developed a second set of poverty thresholds based on the Agriculture Department's somewhat less stringent low-cost food plan, but relatively little use was ever made of these higher thresholds.)

2009-07-21T19:06:00.000-07:00

We're essentially bankrupt and you pass a budget with no new taxes?! Seriously? Someone, please, get up to the state legislature and start teaching some basic arithmetic. As Dave says, "basically a reinvention of state government, more austere, and precisely when folks need the opposite."

2009-07-21T16:11:00.000-07:00

Success!

I finally sucked it up and went out and ordered lunch on my own today! I went back to a place we had eaten at before, to reduce the amount of translating I would need to do just to read the menu. And I managed to say good afternoon, sorry I only speak a little Spanish, lunch to go? The waitress spoke about as much English as I do Spanish, so between the two of us we worked out a salad, toast, and water to go. I even managed to do the math on the bill and pay without a big fuss. Feeling more confident, I went back out this afternoon for coffee and pastry, which was also a big success (though I fumbled a bit figuring out how much money pass over, it worked out ok). Already I feel so much more independent and less cooped up!

2009-07-19T19:38:00.000-07:00

Hrm. I should probably use a few more words to describe last night! My lovely coworker took me out, first to a little restaurant with live, local-ish music (guitar, drums, and Spanish singing, but apparently the first few songs were Cuban covers) then to an awesome lounge that takes some explaining. First, there are two guys with guitars on stage, along with a computer and other misc. technology. Then there is a woman (and later, a man) on one side of the stage in a sound proof booth. Another man on the other side of the stage, also in a soundproof booth, plays saxophone. The group proceeds to rip in to selections from The Cure, Tears for Fears, Michael Jackson, and Prince all while the guy on stage mixes the sound in real time! Fabulous. I had hot wine (vino something, but I've already forgotten the Spanish word...it wasn't caliente, but something with an F...), which tastes like Christmas (i.e., mulled wine) and some local rum in a rum and coke. My guidebook tells me Medellin is the place for rum, but I'm hoping to pick some up here (along with COFFEE!)

I keep waffling between wanting to explore tons more and feeling like I don't need to smush everything into this one trip (my company travels to Colombia pretty frequently). On the one hand, any time I'm in a new place I want to see and do as much as possible, and always read up on history and culture and sights and whatnot (plus, a friend just posted beautiful pictures from her European travels on Facebook and I'm feeling pangs of guilt about not producing similar rolls of digital film). On the other hand, we have tons of work to do. And, as I'm discovering, I have a shockingly high tolerance for spending long days in one place. On the third hand (foot?) this is only day six of 15, so I suppose there really is plenty of time left to get more out and about.

Plus, I'm feeling exceptionally dependent upon my coworkers - they're all bilingual and I am...not. I've been in other countries where I don't speak the language and I don't remember feeling this paralyzed, but then again, I was young and with my parents and probably not experiencing the same feeling of stress and responsibility for managing transactions. I've got a few key Spanish phrases under my belt, and I really should just suck it up and have some awkward social interactions where I confess to my lack of Spanish and we Spanglish and pantomime our way through the transaction, but I just keep shrinking back and glancing at my coworkers while they translate. Sigh.