Personal truths

Again, stealing from Bubblewench (whose blog has made me smile on more than one gloomy day). Here are some personal truths that make me smile and get me through my day.
- I have had an abundance of love in my life.
- Migraines suck, but if you can manage to rise to the occasion, migraine sex is amazing.
- Having all this time off (i.e. unemployed) means extra time with my fella and my kitty.
- We have three pounds of coffee in our fridge (sale!) and as my fella says, if you have three pounds of coffee on hand, things have gotta be at least moderately ok.
- I have a clean credit history.
- It is extremely easy to make me laugh.
- I'm pretty good at making other people laugh.
- My siblings are funny, smart, strong, and loyal.
- I know that I have made at least some aspects of a few people's lives easier or better.
- On any given day, someone somewhere is probably having the best day of their life.

am I 5?

I just ate a whole shit load of peanut M&Ms and now my stomach hurts, and I have a sugar rush so I'm blogging about it because A___ is grading and I am sitting here for once with nothing to do (I am done!!!....for now).

And I can't help wondering, am I like 5 years old or something? What 36 year old woman actually eats so many M&Ms that she gives herself a tummy ache?

Me. I do.

Well we all have our faults. I just happen to have ALL of mine plus a few I borrowed from a kindergartener as well.

On the plus side, I discovered that diaper pails make good kitty litter-leavings disposal receptacles. The diaper genie, in particular, works pretty darned well. Max (my cat) has had some digestive issues for a while now which got worse again about a month ago. This meant, among other things, I found myself needing to scoop his box more frequently. Like four to five times a day.

I can't flush it on account of the plumbing in the old house my apartment's in, so I scoop into grocery store plastic bags (damn stop and shop bags, there's a hole in every 2 out of 3). During Max's period of increased box use, I found myself trying to conserve bags by double scooping in one bag. This was disgusting for many reasons I don't think I need to go into. Then I remembered my friend cjblue telling me about this diaper thing which wraps up each individual diaper and then drops it down into the pail so you can toss another one in on top, wrap it, drop it, and keep going. It's great because it keeps the smell mostly shut in the container and I'm pretty sure I'm going through less plastic per scoop, which is good. Aside from few minor drawbacks involving the first one or two disposals in the pail (it apparently needs a bit of ballast to work properly) and a slightly less efficient but a hell of a lot more effective need to first scoop into a brown paper bag (lunch bags...ew), this thing is excellent.

I was feeling all smart and proud of myself for having found a good solution to the cat box scenario until I went on autopilot tonight after finishing my grading and ate all those fucking M&Ms while watching The Office webisodes.

Oh Shit. Sugar crash time.

off base

It's odd to consider the divergence between how people see you and how you see yourself.

It recently came up, although in what context I can't recall, that my dorm-mates once got me a stripper. It was my 19th birthday, my sophomore year. When I asked "What made you guys decide to hire a stripper for my birthday?" a set of them told me they had decided that I was "unembarrassable". I think they just wanted an excuse to see a guy in a aqua banana hammock.

But unembarrassable? My god that is the furthest thing from the truth. I'll confess to being bold, up front, direct, blunt, confrontational, spirited, passionate. It seems I show my emotions readily and apparently. However, I am most certainly flusterable and, since I do show my emotional state so obviously, I am overtly, visibly embarrassable.

je vais à la funeral

When you are learning a foreign language, you do little "culture" sections. Not so much geography and politics as just crap like "A la plage!" (je porte un maillot?) and whatnot.

What you don't get are "At at funeral" or "When someone dies". I'd think at least the latter if not also the former would be important, especially if you were planning to someday live in the country where that langauge was spoken. Of course, English is sort of all over the damned place, but so's French and that sure didn't stop Madame Higgins from using books and materials which were France only.

Today an international student asked me "so what happens now?" regarding our friend whose mother just died. I talked a little, made reference to "holy week" and the problems this entailed for funeral planning, then noticed he looked very confused. I asked him if he knew anything about US funerals and death customs. Nope.

If you don't want a comprehensive and detailed answer, I am a bad person to ask. I assume if I and a non-local get into what could be an awkward topic, the best thing to do is to give them as complete an answer as possible. My sense is questions like "what do you do with used pads" are hard to bring up in another country, so I like to be sure the person gets the most out of the exchange.

It was sort of odd to phrase so much of it in terms I tend to reserve for anthropology papers..."and the preist....er...any of the christian...I guess clerics, would be quite busy with all the Easter, um, rituals this week..." But we got through it. About 15 minutes later, he had gotten the "everything you never wanted to know about US or at least New England funerals and death rituals" lecture. With an Irish Catholic Boston spin to it (e.g. "Whenever anyone is in the room where the dead person is laid out, they tend to be very quiet. Some people approach to kneel and pray. Generally it is expected that the people in attendance approach the coffin. Even if you don't have anything in mind or anything...it's part of the 'paying respects' thing. Family members usually drift in and out, sometimes hiding out in a back room chain smoking and telling incredibly stupid jokes...sometimes someone shows up drunk.

Shit

My friend's mother died today. It was completely unexpected. When I spoke to her, she still didn't know how or why, and was waiting for a ride to the hospital to find out.

Age of aquarius

I always wondered why, of all the astrological signs, aquarius had been singled out for this special musical treatment. As a child, I think I had an implicit belief that the "age of aquarius" meant bookstores where you could have your aura read, faceted glass unicorn statues, and usually somewhat smelly, often overly hairy 30 something year old vegetarians flitting about in kaftans or what is now described as "renn fest garb".

I now believe it had something to do with some sort of belief of the super-enlightenment of that generation. Typically arrogant of them, to assume that simply by a span of years around their births they were on a short cut to an enlightened and more highly evolved state of consciousness. I wonder if defaulting on your student loans was part of that?

As this evening turned into this night, I realized my friend Sharon would not be coming over as she had proposed. No call. Just later and later hours in addition to Sharon's typical state of being. Sharon is an aquarius. Not surprisingly, they abound. Yeah yeah, I know, odds are what like 1/12 of us will be aquariuses? Right? Except when I was in 4th grade, I noticed that a very large number of (annoying) girls in my class had birthdays in the late january to mid february range. For years I treated people with birthdays around that time of year with a bit of caution, like they might blow up or dissolve into a pile of goo at any moment and without warning. Eventually I learned to overcome my prejudices and I even dated some. Years later, I married one. And when my marriage broke up, I dated and then co-habitated with one.

I am about to swear them off. Tonight was just such a perfect return to the pile of goo feeling. It sometimes seems Sharon makes plans with me simply to abandon them. Not break, just discard. At some point I will touch base with her, if only because we work in the same lab. If I bring it up, she will have a loose and spotty story about why she wasn't here or couldn't call...it will most likely start with "Oh what WAS I doing that night?" and conclude soon after with "Yeah, so I decided 'fuck it', you know?"

Age of aquarius indeed. Evolved apparently doesn't mean "civilized" or even "domesticated".

pique part 2

I noticed some years back that when you are open about stuff, there are a very large number of folks who take this to mean they have license to throw all sensitivity to the wind in their response. I don’t mean that their response is equally open, if by open we include sincere as a necessary trait. The response is simply insensitive. This isn’t always so bad from anonymous strangers, but it sort of sucks when a friend or someone you respect has that sort of reaction to getting a glimpse at your unclothed inner self. The suckiest part is that often this behavior feels like it was invited if not deserved as a result of having been open in the first place.

Having had a couple of occasions to think about this kind of situation as it arose between me and others here and there, I've come to the following conclusion. Thinking being open means you're asking for inconsiderate, remote, socially conditioned responses which place a premium on upholding the disclosure ban (to the detriment of supporting a friend, lover, or even just a fellow human being struggling with some totally normal but perhaps distastefully negative aspects of the human condition) is like thinking when a guest is invited over, they are welcome to shit on the host's coffee table if they don’t like the dip, find the curtains tacky, or are allergic to the host’s cat.

Being open is inviting someone into your space. It’s like letting someone into your home. Of course anyone would agree an invitation to come in doesn't even indirectly imply that the guest could or should do something like that once they are in, not if the invite is into someone’s house. (Ok, fine, a guest could logically and feasibly do that I suppose, but you know what I mean.) Why does letting someone in on a less physical level mean a lower standard applies?

The most rotten part is that this gets internalized, even if you disagree with it. So when someone gives you the "too much information" response (in any of it's forms) to what is sincere and possibly quite necessary self expression, you feel bad. You are the one who has violated the social norm and you now can add guilt for that on top of whatever was going on that lead you to "there" or to express "too much information" in the first place.

I wanted to say for my friend and for whoever else has had a run in with the disclosure police that the desire to be open, to express oneself and even to do this in a forum as public as a blog is not deviant. Sure, at times it might be narcissistic. It might be self absorbed and silly. It might come across as boring or whiney. But those feelings are part of the human experience folks. Self absorbed silly shit come with being a person. Keeping your silly self absorbed shit just to yourself is no guarantee that you're going to move past that, if indeed that is your goal. Plus, who said that all literate introspection on one's personal life and personal response to a larger life is shit? Try reading some Yeats. Talk about mixing your political, personal, and even spiritual, and all out there in the open for EVERYONE TO READ!!!! My god, it's like a fucking blog.

Admittedly not everyone's writing resembles the skill or artistry level of a poet. But keep in mind the focus of the criticism lodged against people who give us "too much information" is not "you don't write in rhyming meter". It's "your personal stuff is up where everyone can read it...ewww!" as if no one ever put their personal, trivial, possibly not terribly stylish shit out there, ever. So untrue. This is nothing new. A quick history lesson should make it clear that this impulse to reveal and disclose even the less exciting and/or less pleasant details of a minor and otherwise unimportant life is about as normal as you get.

Before we had words, we some neolithic guy smearing antelopes across a cave wall in ochre and ash mixed with spit and god only knows what else. I wonder if anyone at the time was thinking "Oh-my-god. Thog so needs to get over himself"

A more direct lineage from ancient to modern expression of the mundane can be seen in graffiti. Graffiti by it's definition is not art. Mutating words into tags is not art. Lines about whether boys or girls give better head written in a ring that spirals out from around the toilet paper holder like some kind of sharpie galaxy of profanity is not poetry. Interactive stories, debates, prayers, curses, vows are not literature if they appear on a wall and not in a peer reviewed journal or magazine. But god damn people just feel compelled to put it out there on the fucking wall don’t they?

Graffiti, while it may be debatable in polite circles as a form of art, is without any doubt the best kind of snapshot of the individual embedded in his or her social contexts. It is therefore valuable if you are interested in what I guess I’m stuck calling “the human condition”. The sentiment hasn’t changed for a while now either. Consider the following from "The Walls of Pompeii"*
Marcus loves Spendusa.
Serena hates Isidore.
Thyas, don't love Fortunatus.
Sarra, you're not acting very nicely, leaving me all alone.
Restitutus has deceived many girls many times.
I have screwed many girls here.
When I came here, I screwed. Then I returned home.
Let him who loves, prosper. Let him who loves not, perish. And let him who forbids others to love, perish twice over.
Let him who chastises lovers try to fetter the winds and block the endless flow of water from a spring.
Lovers, like bees, lead a honey-sweet life.
I am amazed, o wall, that you have not collapsed and fallen, since you must bear the tedious stupidities of so many scrawlers.
Shelton, J. As the Romans Did: A Sourcebook in Roman Social History Oxford 1988.

And here’s an adaptation of a sentiment that has also been around for a while.
Don't like the tedious stupidities? Don't read the wall.
Don't like the drama? Stay off the blog.

You can give someone shit for "going there" or for having disclosed "too much information". But recognize that your response and your need to vocalize it can be seen as being every bit as tedious and irksome as what you’re responding to, and 100% as personal.

Just for shits and giggles, here's the rest of Margaret Cho's "don't go there" bit (from Revolution)

I'm considered a highly inappropriate person. And it makes me a problem dinner guest because at some point during the evening the person seated next to me says, "Okay, uh huh okay, too much information. Yeah, don't go there." I live there. I bought a house there. I will take you there. Because to live as a minority in this country feels like dying of a thousand paper cuts and I ain't going out like that, so I always have to tell the story.

Like I was driving in my car and I saw this woman in front of me and she had a bumper sticker that said, "This car was built with tools, not chopsticks," and it was in this super chinky font that was really like "hi yah!" like that kind of feng shui hong kong fooey font that's really like "aaaieeeaaaiieeaiaai." You know, that kind of font? And I exploded with anger, like I just turned into the Asian Incredible Hulk. I got gigantic and yellow like, "boom boom boom Aaaagh!" And I rolled up next to her and I had nothing prepared. So I just started to scream like, "Aaaagh Aaaaagh Aaaaagh!" I just kept doing it and I kept doing it and I forced her to make a left turn against the red light.

And I felt really good about myself, because I don't want to be the better person. I don't want to rise above it. I don't want to turn the other cheek. I will show you what cheek I'm gonna turn, okay?

healthy man love!

Is the most unexpectedly funniest thing I heard today. It was on an episode of Penn and Teller: Bullshit. Doh, hey here's A___, coming over just in time. Got some healthy man love for me?

Actually the context for "healthy man love" was annoying but the commentary by Penn Jillette was amusing so it's ok for me. The term had been used by a PSYCHOtherapist who cures gay people of being gay. He was saying it to a client who had experienced "healthy man love", apparently a big step on the straight and narrow path. What an appropriate show to watch on Coming Out Day. Happy Coming Out Day. Do we say happy? See, if I start my business, we will have coming out baskets...including one for the people who react like assholes. They will get butt plugs of various shapes and sizes (and colors - to be festive) so they can learn to loosen the fuck up.

A____ about shit himself laughing at the therapist saying "healthy man love" with such misplaced and overblown sincerity. A____ immediately promised give some health man love to all his closest man friends when he sees them next.

Me personally? I want all men to give each other health man love, and hey, if they just happen to slip into it* all the better for everyone. The world needs a big happy orgasm.


*ask cjblue about "slipping into it"

a little help

Wow this sucks. My cat(Max) got sick last night just after I got home from curtailed errands. Errands cut short because my car (Mo) is officially squirrely and last night was one of its less fine moments.

At some point, I think I am going to have to face it that my car's electrical system is just sort of, well, fucked. I say this since trips to the mechanic involve increasingly familiar reports like "this wire's insulation is gone, that connection was corroded, this one worked when we hooked it up to the machine but didn't when it wasn't...we think it's 'cause our connection was grounding it..." I'd say I've been putting it off except that would imply there was a fixable issue or that I could afford to replace the non-fixable issue (the car). So far, neither is the case.

I got home at about 8:30 to Max having some kind of breathing/choking fit (no it wasn't a hair ball) that went on and on and on. I called the vet and we decided it would be best for him to be seen soon since it seemed he was having breathing problems.

Ok, so I run (limp quickly) over to A___'s apartment to get Max's carrier, start up Mo the car to bring it around to the entrance of the building so I don't have to heft my 18 lb cat too far. Mo had to be coaxed into starting, surged when it finally turned over, then BANG, grind...Mo didn't want to go, not one bit.

I called (and called and called) anyone I thought could possibly be helpful, even people I don't like a whole lot. Then I cried because no one was available. My sister and A___ at least answered my calls but there is precious little they could do from states away. The locals were not taking calls. Keep in mind that there is no public transportation and there are no taxi services out here in the middle of fucking nowhere CT.

About an hour after all this began, my friend M___ finally answered what I think was my third phone call, saying "Oh, I'm sorry I missed (all of) your calls..." He was really sweet though, drove the 25 miles of dark twisty country road from where he lives to my place, carried the 18 lb cat out to his car, and even went in with me to the vet.

M___'s never had a cat and can be a nervous driver, so this late night trip with my cat HOWLing in the backseat was probably a little bit harrowing for him I'm sure. Add to that my singing to the cat (we settled on "I will survive") and it may rank up there as one of those "worst things I had to do for a friend" moments for him. It wasn't that bad as far as bad things go, but, well, I have learned to assume moderate to high levels of sheltered in terms of life experiences of many of my fellow grad students.

The vet was nice, gave Max shots and did an x-ray. Max is still sick but not terrible. His lungs looked ok, but the vet said it might have been an asthma attack. More reason to move since now not only does the mold of the rotting (still not fixed) ceiling make me sick, it may be making my cat ill too . Max spent most of the day resting under my desk, but he hasn't had the scary fit like he was having last night.

And today, my car wouldn't start. A___'s not back until Wednesday night, I've got an appointment for Monday to bring my car in but it will have to be towed and I have no ride back from the garage (which is, like everything out here, far away), and no ride to go get it when they are done.

So all in all, this sucks in a big sucky way. Several years ago, I made a new year's resolution that I would learn how to accept help from others because I was so bad at it I would rather hurt myself than ask. I have spent the last few years with a string of obstacles that require me to ask again and again for all sorts of help from people around me. I see this as one of life's little ironies. Sort of like young jeremy finding 2/3rds of a $20 bill while down and out and needing money. It's one of those nasty jokes of fate that makes you want to believe in a god so you can go into a church and scream "ENOUGH, you fuck!"

Assumption, part one

I'm back from Providence. The conference was good, three students from my division presented posters there. A___ and I had a good time, even though it rained pretty much the whole week. He bought a "More cowbell" t-shirt and I bought this one.


On Thursday, several of the grads and I went out for dinner. It was me, my fella A___, and my labmates N____, Sharon, and M____. We had a some fun involving taking under the table pictures (I'll post them later), but there was one interaction that was troubling and which will have lasting repercussions. One grad student had made some assumptions about how far a joke can go and it ended with hurt feelings, anger, and distrust.

This was not the first big bad assumption of the week. The first one happened on my first day at the conference. In fact, it happened within the first 10 minutes of my first day there. My interaction also involved assumptions, a slightly different set of them and a slightly different response from the offended party (me), but it keeps kicking around in my head.

First I'm posting the grad student dinner Thursday night assumption and the grief it caused. I'm describing race and ethnicity related aspects because they become relevant.

My friend and schoolmate M____ is Asian. He's a great guy, witty, a little self conscious, and prone to self deprecating humor. My friend and schoolmate Sharon is also friends with M____. Sharon, an american of mixed but mostly white european descended background, is fun but sometimes insecure and plagued by esteem issues which she occasionally overcompensates for in social settings by hard ball joking with friends. For a while now, I've noticed Sharon and M____ (as well as Sharon and G___, another international student in our program) engaging in "off color" jokes. For example, Sharon had once been joking about how we should all draw self portraits for the student website. Hers should be colored red, she had said, since her skin tone is somewhat ruddy and she's prone to eczema. She then said "And G___ (indian student) should have like 8 arms and be blue!" at which G____ laughed lots. "And M___ should be yellow!" More laughing by Sharon, G____ and M____.

I was uncomfortable and had misgivings about laughing along with this kind of joke. But G____ and M____ were laughing and going along with this, saying "it's ok, it's funny!" so what do I do? Is it my place to turn what is apparently a funny ok interaction into something awkward and offensive by coming down on all of them for making ethnic/racists jokes about each other? Is it my place to play the parent and say "Sure, it's funny now but someday one of you is going to go too far or say it at the wrong time and then it'll make a big mess." Instead I said something non-commitally chastizing like "Wow you guys like pushing it..." the response to which was further reassurance that "It's ok. It's funny".

Ok. It's funny if you guys say it's funny. I guess.

Turns out it's not always funny.

Sharon has a habit of joking about M____'s driving. I've witnessed this before, and I've witnessed M____ joking along, seemingly merrily, saying that he's a scarey driver because he's Asian. I remember the first time I heard this I said "I can't believe you think your driving has to do with your being Asian." I know that on more than one occasion, M____ has told me the joking is ok because he is a bad driver. Now whether or not M___ is a bad driver is a bit beside the point, but let's go there for a minute. I've been in the car with him. Yes, there was one time when he didn't notice the "left lane ends" sign on the highway and had to merge in fast at the last minute. But other than that, he wasn't that bad. He was certainly not as bad as a mile a minute talker impulsive American woman named Rachel who always drove in the passing lane, continually drifting on and off the rumble strip because she was lighting her cigarette, talking animatedly to me, searching her Dave Matthews CD to find that part where he says something incredibly funny and witty that I just have to hear, having a side dialogue with herself about said CD, and checking her missed calls on her cell phone. Now that, my friends, is a BAD driver. M___ doesn't even come close to that shit.

For some reason though, Sharon thinks M___s driving is that bad. Sharon and G___ drove into Providence with M___ Thursday for Sharon's poster presentation. It was on the way to dinner that night that Sharon brought up M___ 's driving, saying "That is the LAST time you drive!" The usual hahahaha kind of M___'s a bad driver discussion ensued between her, G___ and M___ , then died off when we were seated at the restaurant. G____ brought it up again over appetizers and drinks by saying he was not sitting in the front seat on the way home and joking about how Sharon had lied about needing to study so she could sit in back. I added "So you guys call reverse shotgun?" And Sharon spent about a half hour going on about how bad M___ 's driving is. Jokes ranged from what kind of music M___ can and can't listen to while driving, whether dance music makes the driving better, to me telling them about how my brother blasted diva dance music all the way up to my sister's the other week and saying about half way up "Hey, let me know if the music is bothering you, ok?" and me saying "Oh thanks, that's sweet. It's ok right now though," and him replying "Good. I mean, I don't plan to turn it off. I just want to know when it is bothering you so I can fully enjoy it."

(which was funny...he and I do rip on one another and sometimes our feelings get hurt. But we have 33 years of shared history and we can be quite explicit about what is and what is not funny and I think this helps...more on that in another post)

During the M___ 's driving bashing joke fest at dinner Thursday, I recall Sharon saying several times "It's ok, he doesn't mind. He admits it!" And M___ adding, at least early on, comments like "Yes, she's right. I admit it. I'm a bad driver." In retrospect, I wonder what made Sharon feel she had to make this repeated disclaimer. I can't recall if I said much of anything, or if anything I did say sounded discouraging, or if this was just her responding to some semi-conscious understanding that she might be going a little too far even for M___.

At one point, M___ mentioned that his driving was good enough for them to give him a license. He said this still in the joking sort of discourse style. Sharon jumped on it. She said "Yeah I know. How did they ever give you a license? What did your boyfriend take the test for you?" I think M___ said something like "Um..that would be a little hard since he's not (Asian)," and Sharon said "Maybe he taped his eyes up so they'd be slanted..." then she dissolved into hoots of laughter.

I honestly don't remember where I went at this point. I know I heard her say the eye thing but I don't know what I said or did. For someone who can recall conversations in such detail, I find this is strange. I know I felt that familiar "this is too close to offensive for me" feeling but I have no recollection what my overt reaction was.

My fella A___ later recounted that he said something like "Wooah, that's pretty rough!" after the eye comment. I did notice that the dynamic shifted, and I noticed G___ barely said a word for the rest of dinner. I was pretty oblivious to M___ 's reaction, I have to say, and I feel bad about that. He told me later that he was really pissed off and considered getting up and walking away or saying something mean back to her. He also reminded me that at one point after Sharon had assured us (or herself) again that "It's ok he admits it" I had said "As long as M___ 's ok with it..." I am glad I at least said something like this. I feel like an idiot for not noticing that M___ was increasinly NOT ok with it though.

Not long after the unenthusiastic reception to this comment, Sharon piped down about M___'s driving. The next day, I got an e-mail from M___ . Among other things, here's what he said.

when (Sharon) was going on about how scary my driving was, etc. i am sure you noticed the change in my mood when something was said.
....
i thought about talking to her in person what she said was a bit out of line and was actually very derogatory in nature. but i didn't have a chance since G____ was with us in the car. i thought about emailing her but... she might just think "i am being too sensitive" and i am afraid that she might start making fun of me with that. "oh M____'s driving is scary, and on top of that, he was hurt when i said his driving sucks, such a lamo"
...
i do use the slanted eye stuff to describe myself... just like some black people use the N word among themselves or describe themselves.. but the difference is we own the words because they were given to us (not as a pleasant gift but nevertheless they were given to us).

I'm not sure if I can express how bad I felt that I didn't notice the change in M__'s mood. I was really horrified when I got his e-mail. Not that he was offended, I mean, this joking had always made me uncomfortable because I worried about if and when the line would be crossed. It doesn't surprise me that this happened. I felt bad because I had let myself believe that this kind of joking was ok even when part of me knew all along it wasn't. Yes, I didn't fully join in even the supposedly good natured race bashing, but I also didn't do what I think I knew all along was the right thing to do. Which is to completely refuse to participate in the conversation or to say to them, together or separately, "This joking is fucked up guys. Maybe M___ doesn't mind. MaybeG____ doesn't mind. But you know what? I do."

So I called M___ after getting his message and he came over my apartment. We smoked and talked at my kitchen table for a long time. We talked about Sharon, we talked about boundaries and how to express them. We talked about how just because something is ok sometimes that doesn't mean it has to be ok all the time. And mostly we talked about how if you trust someone enough to be friends with them, you need to trust them enough to establish and defend boundaries even if you worry about there being social risk involved. Yes, they might continue after you tell them how you feel, and yes that would suck. But if someone really is a friend, you should give them a chance to stop, and you owe it to yourself to stand up for yourself, even with an intimate. Beliefs about intentions always being good, about no hard feelings, about unconditional trust, etc. are tricky and can result in feelings of betrayal when they are not explicit, i.e., when they are assumptions.

I told M___ that I felt bad, especially since I am the one who says something usually, even when there is social risk. It's sort of my hallmark. The reasons are many. I'm just one of those people who refuses to keep her trap shut when there's shit like this going on around me because even by silence you can be part of it. I'm still upset at myself for not saying something, and M___ and I talked about that too. So I guess it wasn't just him who needed the counseling. It was a two way street. I shared some of my experiences with him, told him it is usually not easy for me to say something even though the frequency of my doing this might make it seem so. That I often feel my blood racing when I go to speak, that I worry that I will offend if it is a friend. But that it is important to me to be true to myself and that I've discovered friends feel worse if they find out after the fact that they inadvertently hurt or offended you. My experience has been it's best to say something directly and promptly, you can use humor if you want but you have to be willing to back it up with a firm statement to stop if the person continues.

So I guess I re-learned my lesson that if something rubs me the wrong way, I'm not going to be a part of it, even tacitly. I am not going to engage in perpetuating damaging assumptions. And I think M___ may be realizing that his habit of self deprecation might perhaps be a form of self abuse and might set his friends up for making some bad assumptions about what is hurtful and what is not.

Lie lady lie

Lie across my big brass bed.
This is how the song SHOULD go if it were grammatically correct. Alternatively, it could be "Lay yourself lady lay yourself, lay yourself across my big brass bed", although that certainly ruins the meter, doesn't it?

This topic arose out of a conversation I had today with my fella, A___. I wanted to pick a music bed for a public service announcement that I'm planning on doing for the radio station. The music needs to be something suggestive and somewhat schmaltzy. After a moment of thinking, I said "Hey how about that 'lay across my big brass bed' song?"
A___ said "What?"
I sang him a few lines. And sang the bendy guitar part too. While this was very amusing, it did not provoke recall. So then it was on to itunes, where we discovered that many many people have covered this song. Among the artists covering the Dylan ditty were Ministry, Duran Duran, and Isaac Hayes. We were in the middle of playing samples of various versions when my good friend R___ (cjblue) called me to say hi and to wish me better moods. I answered laughing and explained what was going on (then I played the clip from Duran Duran's version which just made me laugh harder).

R___ reminded me that in fact this song is grammatically incorrect. "It should be 'Lie lady lie' because 'lay' is the wrong verb," she explained, adding "You're the one who told me that!"

I was a bit horrified to think that I might have been seen as that annoying person who goes around pretentiously lecturing friends on verb usage, but I know myself well enough to realize I probably I wasn't a total tit about it. I'm not a language nazi. And I guess it has served her well because she said she has always remembered since which word to use when.

In case you're interested in correct English usage (as trivia or self edification), you can use the Dylan song to remember when to use lay and when to use lie.

If you're speaking in the present tense, lay is a transitive verb - it takes an object. You lay something (like a book) on a table, on a shelf, or on a bed (big and brass or not). You can lay yourself someplace, as in "now I lay me down to sleep". There's the slang version of lay which is transitive as well, but which isn't so casually confusable with the use of lie since you can lay someone standing, sitting, or reclining.

Lie is intransitive - it doesn't take an object. It is what you do when you recline, as in when you lie on the beach, on a big brass bed, or perhaps in a nest of pillows on the shag floor in the back of a van. Here's where the confusion comes in - lay is also (unfortuately) the past tense form of the intransitive verb lie, as in "Last night, as I lay in his big brass bed, I had strange dreams about the members of Duran Duran dressed as hippies trying to coax me into a van with a shag interior." I'm sure there is a good etymological reason for lay serving double duty as a verb in its own right and as the bastard past tense form of lie, but it's best to just think of the unfortunate past tense of lie as an accident, like George Bush being president of the US or the sound similarity between the words "sum" and "some".

So when you hear "lay across my big brass bed" remember that someone is, grammatically speaking, asking that woman to do more than simply recline.

Year of the Elevator

I'm making a mix for my friends' birthday party. Yes, plural friends...singular party. Half my department is turning 30, just turned 30, or will be turning 30 tomorrow. My friend "Sharon" told me last year I was required to plan a "big fucking party" for her. I think at the time my response was "Um...yeah." But I had been planning stuff for my ex's 30th and rather than see that energy go bad and rot me from the inside out, I decided to put it into Sharon's birthday. Sharon and our lab mate, to be precise. So it's a rainbows and unicorns themed party for the two of them. Meaning we bought unicorn crap and crepe and you can't walk down the hall of my department without catching little glitter winks off the carpet, evidence of the glitter explosions my invitations caused. Oops.

And so I've been slowly working on a mix. Slowly because so much of the music from 1976 is like toxic waste. I can only be exposed to it a little at a time before I have to go listen to stuff like this to scour it from my ears. We're talking serious bad.

Here's a small sample, in the color palette that it deserves:
After the Lovin' - Engelbert Humperdinck
All By Myself - Eric Carmen
I Write the Songs - Barry Manilow
If You Know What I Mean - Neil Diamond
She's Gone - Daryl Hall & John Oates
That'll Be the Day - Linda Ronstadt
John Denver, Olivia Newton John, The Osmonds (together and separately) - the list goes on like a who's who of shit music. Fuck. No magical 70s unicorns and rainbows for that type of music. CheeeRIST, that was the shit that made me pull the holly hobby bedspread over my head and wish I could sleep until I was 30.

I tried very hard to find music that makes me think of that decade without leaving the bad taste of olive leisure suits and baloney colored lee press on nails in my mind. So what's in my mix? I guess it's mostly disco and funk. It's what was playing in the background of my 6 year old barbie doll based fantasies of me as a "grown up". It's songs that remind me of the delight of seeing discoing rollerskaters on the beach, that make me think of promises hinted in city lights hovering over the south east expressway. KC and the Sunshine Band, Commodores, Chic, The Temptations, Prince, Parliament, Rose Royce.... There's a wee bit of "Freedom rock" and pop-shit thrown in because what 70s rainbow and unicorn birthday party would be complete without Starlight Express, Bay City Rollers, and Foghat?

I will of course be burning a copy for cjblue, as she is my mix muse and requires homage.

Tangled up

I recently ran across some pictures. You know the kind, the ones you wish someone else could deal with in the months after a breakup? Depending on the length and overall quality of the relationship, there are many pictures of you and your ex back when you were happy. I have five fucking years of pictures, most of those years were happy. So many pix were of my ex's family, ugh. I knew I was going to have to deal with this box of unfiled memories at some point, and I decided that since I dislike this time of year already, why not just bite the bullet and sort through them now?
Oh yeah.
'Cause I have my period, it's about a week before christmas...what better time to do this?
This was not a great idea.

But I am done now. The pictures, the windchime he bought me for christmas in 2002, rocks we picked up when we escaped from his family during summer trips to the beach, beads I had set aside for a bracelet I was going to make for him, the tiny bronze charm that held a lump of amber resin which he gave me when we first were dating, it's all packed up in a big white trash bag in a corner of my living room. I'm sending the pictures to him, or I will eventually. I wasn't a bitch. I only put in the pictures of him or his family that didn't have me in them. I figured I don't have a right to decide what to do with those because it is really just by accident that I have them in the first place. The accident being my tendency to be the one to store, organize, and arrange the day to day details of the relationships I am in.I did find some nice pictures that made me smile in there. Pictures of the neighborhood kids one halloween when we carved pumpkins. Pictures of my brother and sister goofing around with a thanksgiving turkey decoration made out of a pineapple. Pictures of my wonderful cat Max. Pictures of old friends who have moved away but who I still think of fondly. Pictures of me to remind me I am the reliable constant in my life, that I was worthy of such an amazing and great love and was capable of feeling complete joy. It gives me hope that I will be trusting enough at some point to be able to feel these things again without so many sharp and pointy reservations.

Addendum (6:00 PM): Just talked to little brother. He's coming down for christmas he says. I warned him "Look I'm probably not doing a tree this year." He replied "No bush?" "Yeah, no bush. I don't think I can this year..." I said, quickly weighing whether or not to blame it on my tiny apartment or tell him of my fear that a tree and/or the ornaments will give me a complete breakdown. He interrupted my musings to say "It's ok. I understand. Sometimes it's a pain to have to pick your bush." Then he promised to call me later, hustling off the phone to finish cooking dinner for a friend whose mother just died. Oh I do love my little brother.

Tagged

Hm. I've been tagged by Ruth. I'm supposed to post 20 random facts about me and then tag 5 other bloggers. But I don't really know 5 other bloggers. I managed to scrounge up about 4 that I could tag without them wondering "wtf?" but after that...well, I'm fresh out of contacts with blogs. There are a few blogs I read somewhat regularly, not counting Ruth's which I read very regularly, but they have been tagged already. So what to do? Get a friend to start a blog so I can tag him/her? There's a friend of mine at school, but so far I've not really made my blog public at school. It's too hard for me not to post about the personal, and although I'm not exactly a closed book in the department, I'm not wide open either. So....I think I'll wait on posting my 20 random facts about me until I have at least one more person I can legitimately tag.

Pure dag nasty evil?

I don't know. Today I spoke to a boy who I find utterly revolting. He's of indeterminate physical age, although I'd say his moral compass is about what you'd expect from an intellectually gifted monsterously spoiled 6 year old. As a kid, this guy pulled the wings off butterflies, I'm sure. He might well have a picture of Ayn Rand tattooed on his ass. He could have written the Satanic Bible.

I spent far far too long today speaking to him, having a conversation with him about personal philosophy, egoism, the pros and cons of altruistism, the difference between altrusim (which implies sacrifice) and collectivism, the nature of community participation (as a mutually beneficial act and goal), the price of ego driven isolation, and the like. None of this was stated as such. The conversation trudged around all of these topics with him mostly telling me that it is wrong universally for humans to act in a way that is anything other than blindly self serving. I of course gave vehement and varied counter arguments. But he is so committed to the correctness of his view that he sees all others as false, insincere, weak, or low. He still offered the usual platitudes of "people are who they are" but they were peppered with remarks like "but they choose to be that way" and "all humans are inherently selfish, I simply acknowledge this in myself and act accordingly". But they aren't! But you benefit from that!

Large men who think like this scare the bejeezus out of me.

I think I know how Clarisse felt after she talked to Hannibal. Not that this fella's a super genius, evil or not, but I felt a layer of moral filth sticking to me when I was done.

Thank god for friends and other good people I can be close to. Speaking to this boy today made me feel hopeless.

10 devil day

"And I came tearing out of that room with ten devils behind me..." (pfg)
"I know. I've seen them" (cjblue)
Summer, 1998

I had an MRI today. The MRI was fine. But pre-MRI...well, here's the story.

In general, I used to be ok with medical folks and medical settings. This is why I worked as an inpatient medical secretary ("clerk") throughout most of the 90s. The comfort and familiarity I had with the setting was good, it got me a job with benefits in MI, and it had helped to take the edge off any medical procedures I needed when I was younger. All of this changed in my 30s, it changed because I got Lyme disease. I can't ever assume I'll be ok in medical settings of any type, and I'm less ok when I am having any kind of procedure (my definition of procedure means anything where I have to have an IV and/or drink gallons of something that tastes like they use it to wash the floor). I'm at my worst when I have to drive - or in cases involving sedation, get a ride - way the fuck out of my way (because nothing is close by anything in CT) to have a procedure that my rather jaded cynnical perspective on health care providers says will most likely be useless. That is not to say the procedure is useless, but that it will be applied uselessly.

Case in point - the spinal tap I had for the lyme disease back in 2002. Lumbar puncture sucks. The office I had it in was far away. The electricity went out just as the doc pulled the needle out of my back. While I was "recupperating" 25 bouncey country miles away at home, the puncture leaked and I had to go back to the hospital (far away). Was it worth it? It was supposed to help determine the best course of treatment for the lyme, as I was not getting better even after three months of oral antibiotics. It turned out that the test was "not positive", which my doctor said meant we should continue on the course we were on even though thus far that course had not helped one tiny bit. As I was still somewhat trusting back then, rather than believing that they put me through this procedure for nothing, that they were ghoulishly waiting for me to develop a host of neurological symptoms (as opposed to just a handful) before they explained my test results in a less ambiguous manner, I thought "well that is a relief I guess, to know I don't have neuro-lyme. I don't know why I feel like I do, but I guess I'll just keep on the oral antibiotics and I'll get better eventually".

Eight headache and double vision filled months later, when new and not so exciting lyme symptoms started popping up, I was told by my (far away) neurologist that the spinal tap wasn't in fact "negative". I said "But they told me it was..." then recalled no, I was told it "wasn't positive". I dug out the old results and looked at them in detail. And the neurologist was right. It was "borderline". I was put through a miserable procedure which has risks and inconveniences gallore only for my doctors to NOT use the information they gathered from that procedure correctly. Over a year after I first got Lyme, I ended up on a PICC line for IV antibiotics. In the time between getting bit by the tick and gettingthe IV, more than one full year was wasted being sick, miserable, and verbally abused by at least one doctor for continuing to insist that I was not feeling better. I could have just done the bloody IV right after the tap, instead I had a year full of too many doctors' appointments, and lectures from arrogant insecure physicians who wanted to use me to grind their particular theoretical axe about this apparenly controversial disease. As if I cared about what was clearly their personal opinions on the matter. I didn't. I just wanted to get better. I didn't realize that their personal opinions about the matter were so solid they couldn't be swayed by empirical clinical and laboratory evidence. I didnt' realize it was my job to not only advocate for myself and my health but that this advocacy would mean actually FIGHTING with doctors who were obstinately ignorant. I didn't realize that my physicians' personal beliefs were more important than my health. And when I did realize this, I was somewhat understandably, well, outraged.

That outrage is not far below my surface in any medical context now.

I tell you this so you understand that this whole several year long experience has added up to a sizable chip on my shoulder for things medical. On days when I see a new doctor, I am stressed and volatile. On days when I am going for a procedure, I'm probably clinically insane.

So now the MRI. Everyone was pretty nice about scheduling it and all that. And it really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'm a wee bit claustrophobic, something I never knew until I did a different kind of MRI for a friend at the lab who does functional neuralimaging studies on reading and such. I found out that day in the magnet that I don't like being in the magnet. Not one bit. I told my doctor this last week, and he got me an appointment for an "open" MRI. Yesterday, I was advised by the radiology people to get a sedative before hand. So a sedative was called in for me to pick up at the last minute on my way down for the MRI.

Today I got up, debated with A about all sorts of stuff political, academic, and the like for far too long over coffee and breakfast, then had to fly out of the house to make it to the drug store to get my sedative and then down to the MRI facility far far away.

Needless to say, I'm in a rush and the anxiety is setting in. The MRI place is down near the place where I was treated for my Lyme. I haven't been down there since the PICC line in 2003, and I knew there would be sense triggered memory of the horrible Lyme months along the way.

I got to the drug store and there was a small group of people at the prescription counter. A couple with a baby and a somewhat dirty looking man standing off to the side-ish. In fact, no one was really directly in front of the counter. I assessed the situation and decided that although I was in a rush, I didn't want to be rude.
So I said to the dirty looking man who was standing off to the side "are you waiting to be helped?"
He slowly angled his head and shoulders around to address me. He paused and looked me up and down. He looked around me. He looked slowly back at the tech. I was in this NOW NOW NOW mood and so this sluggish behavior was only slowing things down. Yes or no, simple answer. I could feel my blood starting to simmer. He looked about ready to speak, then didn't. He gestured to the pharmacy tech at the counter who had now focussed on me with a "can I help you" look on her face. He looked behind me, above me, then back at me.
Finally the man spoke. He said "a better question would be 'is there any hope?'."

At this point, I really have no good recollection of the exact order of events. From then on, the entire interaction is a series of adrenaline scorched snapshots in my mind. I know all of this happened, but the order of the events is a little vague.

I know I stepped closer to the counter and then said something like "What? Excuse me? Are you waiting or have you been helped?" to the man, and also somewhat to the tech.
The tech addressed me by name, saying, "Just the one script, right?" and started to look for it in the bin behind the counter.
I said "Yeah," to the tech, then turned back around to the man who had been muttering and said "You know I just wanted to know if you were waiting, I didn't mean to cut in front of you -"
He interrupted "But you did. You cut in front of me"
I said "And you were waiting? You were being helped? Why didn't you answer my question? I just came in to get one thing, my valium so I can go get a fucking MRI -"
"And I also" he said. I don't think he meant valium, because of the two of us, it seemed more than obvious that I was the one who needed the sedative. He needed a smack in the head, and I more than anyone in probably a 10 mile radius, really REALLY needed that valium more and more every second.

The clerk pulled my script and said "Do you have ten dollars?" I think she was desperately hoping I did, but no. I had a credit card. Great. We all wanted me the hell out of there as soon as possible, I realized this even then. And I didn't blame her. I handed her my card.
I waited while the she ran the card. I asked her "were you with the man standing behind me?"
And she said "oh it's ok, he's laid back..."
I said "Well I'm not."
The annoying man was standing far too close behind me. I guess people don't realize that when someone is that angry, it might be good not to antagonize it.
From his much to intimate position behind my back, he said, "I said I was waiting and you cut in front of me". Or something like that.

Lest you believe I was saying any of this in a polite and calm manner dear reader, allow me to dispell that. I was LIVID and it was obvious. My only restraint was that I had not reached out and smacked this ugly man standing behind me.

I said turning part of the way around to face him, "When I first came in, I was trying to ascertain whether you were in line, had been helped, or whatever. So I ASKED you if you were waiting, and you gave me some coy (I might have said "fucking" here) answer. I didn't want to cut you off, but what the hell kind of answer is that?"

While I was waiting for the card to go through, I turned around to look at the man. I leaned my back and hands against the counter, mostly looking for his eyes. I wanted this man to know that if he wanted to communicate with me, he had lost his chance by playing the games that older men think are funny to play with younger women. I wanted him to know that if he had anything else to say at this point, it would be fightin' words and he was going to have to say them to my fully hostile and confrontation ready face and not to my back.

Oh GOD did he pick the wrong woman to play games with today. I thought that telling him that I was there for the valium would have possibly been a bit of a warning, you know, like "hi I'm not ok right now and I am trying to be polite anyhow but you aren't so fuck off for everyone's good, ok?". The tech knew. I don't take valium or the likes, ever. Narcotic naive individuals who get a last minute script for 4 valium are getting it because they need to do something that causes them anxiety. And anxiety is easily transmuted into anger and other negative emotions. Your body's already on edge, then there's something that is threatening or hostile (I perceive that kind of condescending male rudeness to women as both) and you're just right over the edge. But understanding this would have meant this man would have had to curtail his little manly shit fit that I dared to even ask him if he was waiting. I truly believe that his attitude started immediately on my asking if he was waiting or being helped the first time, and that the attitude was because by my asking I was questioning his right to just fucking stand there and take up space like he's all this pharmacy tech has to do all day. Maybe she should have been peeling him a grape while he waited for whatever it was he was waiting for. It wasn't his drugs, they were on the counter. I don't really give a shit what it was, in fact. I don't think it matters. I think he was stuck waiting for some reason and thought anyone who came along should stand there while he petulantly stuck it out not letting anyone else get work done or business conducted. And then along came me. In a rush, anxious, and not particularly liking men who act like this even when I'm in the a more charitable and stable mood.

After the tech brought back my card, I said to the man "The next time someone asks you something like that, maybe you can just respond to the question instead of playing (fucking?) games."

I can't believe I didn't break anything leaving the store.

Flowers

Ganesh is here because although I don't claim to know jack about hinduism, I have always sort of liked what I've picked up about Ganesh. And I'd like a positive symbol at the moment.

The friend I was arguing with last night (AS) got me flowers and a book (Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, David Sedaris).
The flowers were to make me smile and the book is to make me laugh.

My life has been getting somewhat negative these days, and while I am (understandably) apprehensive about intimacy at the moment, I am willing to accept the comfort that comes from a nice act such as this one.

I am a social person. I always have been. I feel very deeply for people I care about, and when I feel betrayed or massively disappointed by one of them, I get pretty down on people in general...myself included. Hence the argument. This small but kind act from my friend (who I argued with and who then turned around and brought me flowers and this book) helps to restore my faith in people. Sounds a little hokey, right? It is hokey if it is insincere.

Now I have to go brush my teeth and go to bed. Long day tomorrow. Doctor's office. I think I'll bring the book.

Argument

A friend and I had an argument tonight. It's been horrible. I started off in a pretty foul mood and mostly I've stayed that way. meanwhile, he is trying to convince me that I am still capable of love and tenderness. We have entered into some kind of philosophical debate I think.
My friend writes:

> Life is pain, pain is growth, and growth is joy.
> Joy is the reason for
> living.

My reply

Speaking from loads of experince, pain is not always growth.
Pain sometimes (I'd say often in my experience) is just pain.
Pain is often a signal of something bad, of some corrosion
or disease. In the worst of cases, pain is just mindless
meaningless unpredictablepain that will teach nothing
that will help nothing and that will stunt you if it
hits you when you are down, that can frighten you into
acting atrociously, that can eliminate your ability to care
about anything other than escaping it.

Growth is not joy.  Growth is almost always painful
and traumatic.  As an abstract concept of something that
happens to someone else or to ourselves when we are
not experiencing it, growth may be cause for rejoicing,
but it is in and of itself not joy.

Joy may well be a reason for living, but it can't be
the only one.  If it were, when people like me are in
bleak moments like this one, then there would be
no reason for living. At times like this, I continue
even if only because I will
and I therefore must brush my teeth.
So my existence today, tomorrow,
and for the forseeable future
is a complete contradiction to your statement.  

Gidget

The topic of Gidget came up the other day. I happened to casually refer to a driver who was annoying me by that name while I was in the company of a friend who was born in the 80s. My friend said "what?" I tried to explain. It defies words. It requires images. So here she is folks. Sally Field as Gidget. You know, she almost HAD to do Sybil after that.

I look at this as affirmation that one's life and the works that one will be known for needn't be defined by what one did in the dawn of adulthood.

I also find passing amusement in the fact that Sally Field has the same birthday as a dear old friend of mine, who is entirely UN-gidget like, even as a 19 year old.

Coming up Roses

Ruth was here, called me just as I was writing the last post. It was so nice seeing her. I ranted probably too much about the wreck we call my love life, but boy did I need it. She's a great friend, listening to all of it. Hanging out made me feel better, plus she brought me some nice smelly stuff. The candle she brought is burning near me making everything smell beautiful and rosey.

We ended up having an impromptu reunion with my sister who came down from her hamlet with her now refugee cat. She and her roommate are having problems that recently escalated to a point where she worries about the roomie doing bad stuff to her belongings. The kitty is the least replacable and most dear part of A's life, so the kitty is staying down here for a little while. It's like summer camp. That's what we told the cat at least. She's been very sweet.

Good lord, look at the time. T and I talked tonight, then e-mailed. I think we are officially breaking up. Tonight ended with me telling him not to call me until he was done with this dissertation draft. Hence the extreme hour. I am upset, but I have to at least try to sleep or I'll come apart completely. At times like this, I try to remind myself that this is all part of the rich tapestry of life. Oh yeah, and my toilet's broken.