Avast!

Apparently, we now live in the neighborhood where people drive up in vans and unload their entire extended family to trick-or-treat. Crazy.

Mr. B., who accompanied Pseudonymous Kid, says that he saw two President Bushes. One was propped up in an SUV that had run over several white-draped figures that said things on them like "civil liberties." Apparently there is also a fabulous gay couple one block over who answered the door dressed entirely in gold lamé. I have berated him for not writing down the addresses of these people so that we can go beg them to be our friends.

Pseudonymous Kid came home after half an hour or so trick-or-treating because his bucket was too heavy to carry. And then he turned right around and went back out again. He now has a mixing bowl full of candy. To his great credit, though, he not only shares, but actively insists on dividing the full-sized Snickers bars three ways, sorting the Reeses pb cups into three piles, and so forth. I'm not sure how Mr. B. and I, both of whom are greedy assholes, raised such a nice kid in this regard.

Let the constipation begin.

Trick *and* Treat

The feds have decided, in their infinite wisdom, that with the budget in massive deficit and spending on stuff like VA benefits and education losing ground, it's time to fund abstinence only programs for adults. Yes! No sex until you're thirty, you sluts. Unless you get married. Because god knows it's better to spend money convincing adults to keep their legs crossed, according to

Wade Horn, assistant secretary for children and families at the Department of Health and Human Services, said the revision is aimed at 19- to 29-year-olds because more unmarried women in that age group are having children.

, than it is to, oh, provide daycare or financial support to single women with kids. Or, you know, recognize that women who don't want to bear kids have the right to abortions and birth control.

The treat in all of this is that porn and vibrator sales are going to revitalize the national economy. And that porn actors are all going to be over thirty years old, which should help us move past our national obsession with girls gone wild, coeds, and "barely legal" teens.

Mom, writer, activist, educator

So I want to revisit this stay-at-home-mom thing. Evidence:

1. Volunteering in PK's classroom. Ye gods, there's a *lot* of bureaucratic paper shuffling in first-grade classrooms nowadays. When I was there, the student teacher was leading the kids through reading and writing exercises while Mrs. Smith called each kid up to her desk to give her the text of a poem they'd written, which she then typed into some database she's creating. In between she answered phone calls, kept tabs on the student teacher, and kept tabs on me. I put all the kids' homework in their boxes, sharpened pencils, put next month's lunch menu in the kids' boxes, collated various lesson activities for the coming week, and led them through one of their group reading exercises while Mrs. Smith supervised the rest of the class. I know that there are parents who volunteer *every day* to do this sort of thing, and I know that Mrs. Smith also has to sell "scrip" for the PTO (which pays for the school library, music teacher, art teacher, and librarian) when parents ask for it, take in and distrubute checks for various fundraisers, school lunches, and book orders, and a bunch of other crap, too, surely.

2. Walking home from dropping PK off today, I overheard another mom talking on her cell phone about someone "in relapse," and trying to schedule taking someone grocery shopping with her. It didn't sound like family; it sounded like some kind of volunteer thing.

3. My own dealing with Aunt this last couple weeks: have taken phone calls from the hospital about her income, medical status, psychological needs, and whether (and when) we are moving her to a new facility, along with meeting with her best friend and other medical power of attorney to look at said new facility and talk about things. Her son will be in town from overseas in a couple of weeks, and we will all have dinner then and come to some kind of meeting of minds.

4. My various conference calls, blogging-related activities, and attempts at political volunteering.

Hypothesis: the whole "stay home moms" vs. "working moms" argument, including the "is it really feminist to stay home" question, fails to take into account the larger context. My observations suggest that at least some, if not a majority of stay home moms and dads are not only working as parents and housekeepers; they also serve as unpaid support and teaching staff for local public schools, unpaid case managers and caregivers for sick and elderly relatives, and unpaid volunteers/part-time help for a wide variety of social services and programs including libraries, hospitals, art, music, and sports programs, and political organizations.

The issue isn't that the "choices" we're making are, or are not feminist. The issue is that in this regard we haven't, as a society, actually moved much *at all* in the last fifty years. The volunteer mom brigade *looks* a little less ladies-who-lunchy, because we aren't organizing all the other stay-home moms over tea and bridge clubs, like my grandmother did. But cell phones and yoga pants aside, we're doing the same stuff. Maybe in some ways it's even harder, because one has to look around to find out where the organizing is happening.

But the point remains: a lot of stay-home parents are doing a lot of unpaid work to keep society running. It's not strictly a question of whether or not the "working" parent should be "paying" the at-home parent a wage for housekeeping and childrearing (through alimony, split incomes, separate IRAs, or what have you), or whether the government should be paying social security to stay-home moms (see here and here for more on that last one, and if you haven't read Crittenden's book yet, for god's sake do so). It's also that we still don't even fucking recognize the work being done as work; that we don't recognize that the women who do it are extremely vulnerable economically; that their cell phones and nice houses and koi ponds don't prevent them from being one divorce away from poverty, or well on the way to an indigent old age; and that, to be blunt, we owe them. We owe them respect, economic security, recognition, and status. Not the lip-service status the Republican family values crowd offers us, either, but real status, not as idealized mommies but as educators, organizers, managers, caseworkers, venture capitalists, founders of various non-profit organizations, entrepeneurs, and small business owners.

All of which said, I'm still not interested in getting on board with this whole argument that staying home is about wanting a better quality of life, or better balance, or whatever--all of which can sound awfully inward and nuclear. But a big part of that, I suspect, is that a lot of stay-home folks don't recognize the work they're doing their own damn selves. Stop telling people who ask that you're staying home, or being a mom, or wtfever. Keep your resume up to date, and put on it all the phone calling, fundraising, volunteering, organizing, whatever, and when someone asks what you do, tell them about it.

The grocery shopping won't get any less boring, but it'll be a lot easier to understand why it's so hard to find time for it. And to make the case that it ain't your job to be doing all the laundry/cooking/cleaning, while you're at it.

Little Kid heaven

Here we have the young Will Turner battling Darth Vader for dominance over Hollywood Avenue Boulevard (duh), shortly after having seen (for the first time) The Nightmare Before Christmas (in special Disney 3-D!).

We also managed to purchase a PotC Aztec Gold medallion (TM) at the adjoining Disney store, for transformation into a practically impossible-to-find PotC Aztec Gold necklace. This, and some buckles on those shoes, will make PK's Halloween costume complete.

We expect literal assloads of candy.

Mama bleg

Pseudonymous Kid is apparently the only non-pubescent girl in America who prefers Will Turner to Captain Jack Sparrow. Which puts me in the position of trying to find a Will Turner costume for him for Halloween. This was to be my hidden agenda for the Disney trip, but we decided we are all way too tired to fight the crowds today, so I spent a couple hours surfing teh internets to try to find such an item.

Apparently English kids are sissies like my son; they have a costume over in the UK. But that does me no good, since Halloween is on Tuesday. And there's this generic "pirate costume" which could, perhaps, be modified to look like Will's outfit in this picture. If I can get overnight shipping and spend all day Tuesday making alterations.

Le help! Writing mom does *not* want to spend the next three days frantically finding and/or sewing a Halloween costume. Anyone know a source for the appropriate items (poet's shirt, long brown waistcoat) in little kid's size 5?

Thank god it's Friday

The Santa Ana winds, which I am loving--dude, it's late October and it's t-shirt weather, HA!--are giving Mr. B.'s allergies fits. Which means (I infer) that after we drove past horrible wildfires yesterday on the way back from Tucson--we could see the smoke and some flames from the car, and so far four firefighters have died; yet another reason to look askance at spreading development into the hills--we got back to find that the diswasher I'd loaded before leaving town had not even been run. Mr. B. had brought the laundry in from the line, but then left it in the basket to wrinkle. The Lego Mindstorm kit PK got for his bday was still all over the living room floor and the party decorations were still up; the mail I'd left on the dining room table for Mr. B. to look at was still there, untouched, alongside a few days' worth of newspapers, still in plastic bags, and some additional mail--but not the stuff that hadn't even been brought in and was overflowing the mailbox.

So, feeling (as you might imagine) quite irritable, and ranting in my head about the uselessness of Mr. B.'s promise that because my "job" this year is to write, he thinks it's really important that we not let me default into the primary housekeeper person, I folded the laundry, cleaned up the table, ran the dishwasher, left the handwashing neatly stacked and cleared of food for Mr. B., cleaned up the rotten pumpkins in front of the house (note to self: Oct 20 is too early to carve pumpkins down here), put up the rest of the Halloween decorations for PK, straightened up the toys in the family room, tidied the bathroom, opened all the curtains, and pointedly left Mr. B.'s boots in the middle of the kitchen floor where I found them. This morning I've stripped the bed linens, run three loads of laundry, unloaded the diswasher and reloaded it, put away the hand-wash dishes that yes, Mr. B. did wash this morning (after I asked him to do it last night), unpacked all the boxes of pictures that were still in the laundry room, helped my father get his truck started (don't ask), straightened up PK's bathroom (I suspect that in his excitement to see the mice, he totally destroyed their cage, so I put that back together too), let PK forage for his own breakfast (which he seems to have done just fine), and now he and I are watching Over the Hedge, which he also got for his birthday.

I had a post all planned in my head about new thoughts on the stay-at-home-mom thing. The general idea was that, duh, "stay at home moms" = "unpaid school support staff" (vote Yes on 88, Californians). But now all I can say is that this stay-at-home mom thing fucking sucks, and I resent it.

However! Tomorrow we take PK to Disneyland, and on Sunday, the kiddie matinee of this and the local museum's kids' Dia de los Muertos celebration. So I'm sure to get a lot of writing done over the weekend.

My father has many good qualities

This post is not about them.

This post is about how I spent all day getting my aunt admitted to the e.r., and then having her admitted to the geriatric psych ward so that they can evaluate whether last week's episode of swearing, banging the walls, and hitting a careworker was (a) an MS attack; (b) an indication that she needs her meds adjusted; (c) something else.

In between signing papers, following doctors out into the hallway to whisper that no, she cannot walk, no, she cannot read, no, her own reporting of her symptoms is not at all reliable, and by the way you are aware that she has MS, right?, I was mostly sitting next to her in the e.r. saying that no, no one thinks she is crazy, no, we are not locking her away in a loony bin, we just need to assess her medications. No, we are not moving her to a new facility; that may happen later. Yes, someone will take care of her cat. Yes, the caregiver she most trusts was there this morning. No, she did not imagine it. Yes, you did actually hit someone, but not today. Yes, you were swearing, and yes, I know you don't swear. This is why we think perhaps your medications need adjusting. Yes, I know that [you think] you only take one kind of medicine. Yes, the doctors have a list of your medicine[s]. Well, maybe you need to take more than one medicine! The doctors will figure that out. No, no, you are not crazy. Maybe this fit was just an MS attack. Yes, the doctors know about that. Yes, they will consider it. No, we are not locking you away in a loony bin. No, we are not moving you to a new facility. Yes, someone is taking care of your cat. Etc., etc., etc.

My father, whose sister this is, has to wait out in the waiting area with PK, who is not allowed behind scenes. Whenever I emerge to check on them, he makes impatient signals at me and says that when *he* would have to take Grandma to the e.r., he would always just sign the papers right away and didn't need to hang around all day. So he doesn't think I need to hang around all day. He doesn't understand why we are staying here so long. Surely I can just sign the papers so we can leave already!

I explain to him that I have medical power of attorney, that she needs to be admitted for a psych eval. That I need to speak to the social worker and give them some background because she is not reliable. That I need to sign her in because if I don't do so she will refuse to be admitted to psych because she is afraid.

PK asks if I can take him to the bathroom.

When we return, my dad is speaking to the admitting nurse. He turns to me and says accusingly that she tells *him* that I can just sign the papers and leave. The papers are in the hands of the social worker, who is probably with my aunt right now.

I tell him that I will go see if I can find her, and will he please wait here with PK while I do that?

Then I go back to my aunt--the social worker is not there--and re-explain everything to her all over again, because she wants to know if she is being put in the loony bin, and is someone taking care of her cat, and she didn't hit anyone this morning, did she? And didn't we just go to dinner last night? And she's perfectly rational, she has no idea why she is here.

Finally, at about 6:30 pm, things are settled down, the paperwork is signed, the histories have been given. Aunt is still not transferred, but that may not happen for a while yet--however, it will happen tonight. I tell Dad that I came out to tell him we can leave, and to ask whether he wants to stay an extra night in the hotel we were at before--which PK loved because it had a saltwater pool and Nintendo games and free breakfast and a big courtyard--or whether he wants to get on the road, and that once we've decided that I just have to go say goodbye to Aunt.

He says, natch, that he wants to get on the road. He goes to say goodbye to Aunt himself. He comes out and says, "okay, let's go," and starts walking towards the car.

I say, "um, Dad. I have to go say goodbye to Aunt."

He says, "I already did that."

I say, "I promised her *I* would do it, too."

He rolls his eyes and says, "okay, we'll wait here."

I go to say goodbye. I ask the nurse for a phone and we call Aunt's favorite caregiver, because she's not sure she remembers having seen her this morning, and will she visit her in the loony bin? Favorite Caregiver reassures aunt that she's not going into the loony bin; yes, they saw each other this morning; yes, she will take care of the cat; yes, she will visit my aunt while she is in the hospital.

I say goodbye to Aunt, and tell her not to worry.

She says--with a flash of her characteristic humor--"What else do I have to do here but worry?"

"Maybe you can see how much of Hamlet you remember by heart," I suggest.

"HA!" she says. "That's a long play."

"That's the point," I say.

She smiles. "Thanks for coming," she says.

"No problem," I say. "I like seeing you. I'll call in a few days, see how you're doing."

"Good," she says.

"Ciao," I say.

"Ciao," she smiles.

About four hours after we got on the road, Dad says--as if he'd been thinking about it the whole time (which I'm sure he has)--"you know, it's--I don't know if i'm using the word 'ironic' properly here--it's ironic, I guess, that we talked about church yesterday. And your aunt and I don't like it that you and your cousin don't go to church. But you know, you did a better job today of doing what Jesus would want us to do than I did. You are really good about taking care of Aunt. Very patient and kind to her. I wasn't. I sort of just stood around."

I let pass the urge to point out that I am not being "patient and kind"; I actually like Aunt. Also the urge to tell him that it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if, when I am being "patient and kind," he would not give me one more fucking person to manage and humor in addition to an Aunt with MS and a bored six-year-old.

Instead, I say, "thank you."

Good deed doers, take note

Hey, video artistes! Wanna be a good and noble person *and* win a thousand bucks and maybe get some television air play? Or, like, maybe a hundred dollar gift certificate to Good Vibrations and a "year's" supply of condoms from Planned Parenthood? (Let's ignore the fact that they think "a year's supply" = "365"; that could be five years' worth, or a month's worth, depending.) Or, third prize, a $50 gift certificate to Good Vibrations.

Here's the dealio: Planned Parenthood Golden Gate is having a How Do You Make Safe Sexy video contest. You've got 'til January first.

And, if you want to help convince people like my dad to vote "No" on Prop 85, click on over here and check out the No on 85 campaign's latest ad. You can donate money to help 'em air it, if you like, or you can just scoot around their website and pick up some info and talking points for dealing with your California relatives.

If the goddamn thing passes, you might want to tell your California relatives' daughters about this site, which can help you get emergency contraception if you're having a hard time getting some asshole pharmacist to let you have it. Or, come to think of it, you might wanna tell *everyone* about that site, since even though it's supposed to be legally available over the counter, you just know that there are going to be jerks who won't stock it or who will pretend not to stock it, just because they can.

On the road, again

Aaaand . . . here we are, back in Tucson to visit my ailing aunt. This time with PK, who is on fall break, and my dad. Thankfully, it looks like my cousin and my aunt's best friend have all but decided to move her from Tucson to a li'l Cali valley town all of 30 minutes from my house: my task here is to (1) visit her; (2) find out what's going on, medically/psychologically (she had an episode of rage, complete with throwing things and swearing at the top of her lungs, a few days ago, and the current facility is transferring her elsewhere in a couple of days); (3) sell her on moving closer to me and her best buddy; (4) if possible, prepare her for the fact that the newer facility, which has lovely grounds and a chapel and is much better located and very nice indeed, will probably put her in the nursing, rather than assisted living space, which will mean figuring out what to do with her cat and accepting a double room and a less homelike ambience.

In other news, my volunteer visit to Mrs. Smith's classroom made it clear to me that the new curriculum is *way* more demanding than elementary school was back when I was a kid and had to walk ten miles uphill in the snow to get there. Mrs. S. does an awesome job, frankly, of shifting the kids from one activity to another every fifteen-twenty minutes, with physical movement in between. But the reality is that the combined effect of No Child Left Behind and the new California standards means that a lot of what's happening is drilling reading and writing. So the developmentally "behind" issue is purely a maturity thing: PK is both on the young side of the other first graders and a fairly active and inquisitive kid. The combination means that he isn't too hard to distract from the reading/writing activities, and he's fallen in with a couple of other little boys who, like him, prefer joking around or gossiping to taking dictation or sounding words out.

It's interesting. I've talked to several different teacher acquaintances (including my dad and my aunt's best friend, both now retired), and they all say the same thing: parents are tending to wait to start kids, especially boys, in kindergarten because nowadays schools--at least, the "high-performing" ones, aka the schools whose kids primarily come from the educated middle and upper middle classes--really do seem to prefer kids to be beginning reading by the time they finish kindergarten and reading more or less fluently in first grade. Mr. B. calls it "leave no child behind by holding all the kids back," and I'm kinda dubious myself since the research seems to show that yeah, the younger kids are a little "behind" up until about third grade, when it all evens out. I expect that PK will be a little bit of a handful in the classroom for a couple of years (my sister, the former elementary school teacher, says "kids like PK can drive you crazy in the classroom"), and then, I hope, learn to be a little more patient with (frankly) fairly boring drill-type activities.

Mrs. Smith says that yes, they do too much testing, but that's the way it is. And that yes, the newer curricula leave little time for "fun" activities. But she does do painting, and cooking, and baking in the classroom, and she works a lot of drawing into the reading activities. I feel much better having seen what it is she's talking about, and hearing her say--once all the other kids had left for lunch, and PK was *finally* settling down to finish the written work he needed to do before eating--"see? He really can do it."

"Yeah," I said, "I know he can. But I also know that he concentrates better when there aren't distractions around."

So we're on the same page, and PK is acknowledged to be perfectly capable of doing the work, and the only issue is that he's at the point where it's time for him to start being slightly less indulged--alas for the mama's boy of yore!-- and expected to do as he's told, rather than negotiating every activity or expecting adults to jolly him into cooperating with fun and games and teasing.

Sigh. Time to grow up a little.

And, finally, kudos to the loathed sister-in-law, who to her very great credit sent me a couple of rather conciliatory emails acknowledging that she'd crossed a line. Not easy for people to do that, especially when they are as stiff-necked as she and I am. Not only that, but she sent PK The Electric Company DVDs for his birthday. Which he *loves*. And which are exactly the kind of thing he needs right now. I set him up to watch them in the back seat on my laptop while I was driving, and I could hear him sounding out and reading words along with Luis, Rita, Bill, and Letterman.

Sunday sermon

I foolishly told my dad that PK's school friend Carlie was horrified when he told her he didn't believe in God. Then again, maybe I did Dad a favor: it gave him a good sound reason to pray for me and PK to be strengthened in our faith, he says. We don't have a chance against the power of his prayers, he says. PK won't know about god if I don't teach him about god, he says. I merely said, "well, that's true," and didn't get into the ways that I've discussed religious faith with PK, nor the fact that PK's athiesm is really pretty much his own decision, as far as I can tell. I did offer to go to mass with Dad today--I'm interested in checking out the local mission--and he kissed me on the head and thinks, probably, that this is evidence of the strength of my eventual conversion.

In my corner, however, we discussed how Dad's going to vote on Prop 85. He and his wife have discussed it at length. He thinks that young women should talk to their parents if they get pregnant, and I agree. He thinks of the people he knows who had to deal with "problems" like that, and how they all weathered them well, within the family. I counter by saying, what if the girl's father or her mother's boyfriend is the one who got her pregnant? What about the girls who are so afraid to disappoint their parents that they put off telling them until they're in the second trimester, when the procedure is more difficult and more expensive? He counters by saying we're just offering competing anecdotes. I don't tell him that his most beloved daughter has never told him about the abortion she had (as an adult), because she is afraid of losing his good opinion.

He sees the proposition as one to help families communicate. I see a "no" vote, I tell him, as an act of mercy for girls who are young, are caught in a scary and time-critical situation, and who don't need the additional stress of being afraid of the law to make their decisions and discussions with their families even harder.

"Aha," he says. "You've convinced me. I guess they can still talk to their families--"

"Of course!" I interrupt. "A no vote doesn't make it illegal for girls to talk to their parents!"

"--but you're right, that's a difficult thing for a family. Not a time to add more pressure."

"Thanks, Dad," I say.

Friday link blogging

Since it's PK's birthday, I'm way too busy doing things (as usual) at the last minute to, you know, write a *real* blog entry. Today is my first day volunteering in his classroom--which'll be awesome. I can see what's going on.

But I haven't forgotten you all, my darlinks! Here, for your reading pleasure/outrage/interest, are a few interesting links floating around the interwebs:

1. The voter intimidation letter in Orange County was sent by the OC Republican candidate for US Representative. To their credit, the Rs are asking him to pull out of the race. Ironically, he's an immigrant himself.

2. If you're in the NYC area, you might be interested in an organization that has somehow gotten me onto the email list: Queers for Economic Justice.

3. France offers an example of how to encourage births *and* keep women working. Hint: it doesn't involve telling moms they should stay home.

4. You might be interested to know what's going on in South Dakota vis-a-vis the ballot measure on banning abortion.

5. A sad story about the kind of thing that can happen when women's decisions about reproduction aren't honored: man kills girlfriend for not having an abortion.

6: Finally, some good news: there's been a Happy Meal revolution: Disney isn't going to put their name on junky junk food any more, nor sell it in their parks. Now if someone would tackle the school lunch system, aka the dumping ground for meat and dairy subsidies....

Okay, I'm off! Happy PK's birthday, y'all!

Houston, we have a problem

Situation: Pseudonymous Kid's birthday is tomorrow. He is having a party on Saturday, to which he invited the kids who sit at his table in class.

Scene: yesterday, picking Pseudonymous Kid up from school:

Teacher, looking very cross: You need to tell PK to stop talking about the party at school.
Me: Oh, is he making other kids feel bad? I'll be sure to ask him not to do that.

On the walk home:

Me: PK, Mrs. Smith would prefer you not to talk about your party at school any more. She is afraid it might be making the kids who weren't invited feel bad.
PK: She told me not to do that any more.
Me: Okay, did you stop?
PK: Yes. She said that if I did it one more time, I wouldn't be able to have a party.
Me: What? She said she would cancel the party?
PK: Yes.
Me: Did she use that word, "cancel"?
PK: No, she said that if I talked about the party one more time she wouldn't let me have one.
Me: Hmm. Well, I will check with her about that tomorrow morning and see if maybe you misunderstood what she meant. But you know, it is not up to Mrs. Smith if you have a party, it is up to me.
PK: That's what I thought! Will you cancel my party if I talk about it any more?
Me: No, of course not. But you shouldn't talk about it at school, because it might make the kids who we couldn't invite feel left out, okay?
PK: Okay.

This morning:

Me: Mrs. Smith, I want to ask if PK maybe misunderstood something you said yesterday. He said that you told him that if he kept talking about the party, you would ask me to cancel it?
Mrs. Smith: Yes, he kept talking about it so I told him that he wouldn't even have a party if he mentioned it one more time.
Me, kind of shocked: Oh, well . . . that's really not a good idea. He doesn't react well to . . . (thinking hard to try to find a word other than "threats") . . . being told there are consequences that won't really happen. And he's smart enough to know that the party is something that is happening at home, not at school.
Mrs. Smith: Okay. Well, I know he is a little younger than the other kids, and he's developmentally a little behind . . .
Me: Right, he's not as tactful as older kids quite yet. But . . .
Mrs. Smith: And you know, I told him to stop using the word "annoyed," but I had to tell him again yesterday.
Me: Well, PK is actually a very empathetic kid. But he doesn't react well to rules he doesn't understand. I find that if you explain to him that something will make other people feel bad, or that it is rude . . .
Mrs. Smith: The word I use is "unkind."
Me: Well, PK is very concerned about being rude. So maybe that word will work better. But if you can appeal to him . . .
Mrs. Smith: He says whatever he is thinking.
Me: . . . If you can appeal to him, kind of get him on your side--you know, say to him conspiratorially, "I think you might be making the other kids feel bad," or "it's a little rude to talk about things in front of people who aren't invited" . . .
Mrs. Smith: Right.
Me: . . . Then he is much more likely to cooperate than if he is just told not to do something, which frustrates him and gets his back up.
Mrs. Smith: Okay, well, make sure and go to the main office to update your contact information. . . .

Hrm. I get the feeling, and so does Mr. B., that Mrs. Smith does not listen very well when we try to discuss things with her. I am starting to think she sees PK as a "behavior problem," and if she talks to him the way she talks to us, I bet he doesn't, in fact, listen to her very well, because he prefers to have things explained, and to have his own explanations listened to.

I think this afternoon I am going to tell her that we need to have a meeting.

Move recommendations?

So now that we're rich, I signed up for Netflix. Only one movie at a time, though, because oddly I find myself watching very little tv and I figure I don't have the time to really develop a tv habit. Though I bet I'll up the number of movies once I get into watching all the TV series I've missed, like Six Feet Under or Deadwood or BSG (I've only seen season 1).

So tell me what to watch. I've seen virtually nothing in the last few years except stupid shit like Sin City and kids movies like Madagascar. What are all the really great small indie or foreign films I've missed? Or even really great fairly popular movies that I've forgotten about, like the Squid and the Whale (which is on the queue because I was capable of remembering that it existed)? Good documentaries? The problem with the genres I tend to like is that it's so easy to slide over the line into condescending crap ("another movie about the trials and tribulations of poor people") or knee-jerkiness ("another documentary about the evils of the Bush administration"). I want some wit, damnit. Something interesting.

Favorite movies in the last few years that I *have* seen, just to give you an idea: Lovely and Amazing, Amores Perros, 21 Grams, All About My Mother. Favorites that aren't particularly recent: Bagdad Cafe, Into the West, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. I like humor, but most big comedies look sucky (even though sometimes they're better than they look). And depressing is okay, great even, as long as it's empathetic depressing rather than the condescending kind.

Suggestions?

Welcome to California!

But don't vote.

Some asshole or group of assholes down here in SoCali sent out a letter, in Spanish, that says

"You are advised that if . . . you are an immigrant, voting in a federal election is a crime that could result in jail time."

For the record, this is bullshit. Immigrants are allowed to vote.

The part of the letter I elided, in order to focus on the immigrant thing, says "if your residence in this country is illegal." Which is true: undocumented immigrants are not able to vote, because they are not citizens. Duh. That said, however, it's not just coincidence that the letter (which the state AG's office says they are investigating) uses the words "illegal" and "immigrant" in the same sentence. If you speak Spanish in SoCali, there are plenty of people who are happy to assume that you're illegal. And if you yourself are a citizen, but work with or know or are related to people whose paperwork isn't all in order, the last thing you want is an implied investigation into your status.

In fact, let's be honest: none of us want an investigation into our citizenship status. At best, it's an affront and a pain in the ass. Only most white people don't have to deal with having their citizenship under suspicion: you don't have to show id to vote, even, just state your name. So it's easy to think "well, if you're a citizen, you know you have the right to vote" and figure that this kind of intimidation tactic is admittedly racist but probably not all that threatening or effective.

Unless you've been a legal immigrant and have had, say, your right to travel with your kid questioned, or experienced the panic of wondering "shit, did I leave my passport at home?" or had your employer tell you that the form you provided to renew your contract was the wrong one and you need to find the right one right now or else you won't get paid next week. Or if your English is kinda shaky, because you immigrated as an adult rather than as a child, and you're constantly having to deal with the bureaucratic anxiety of doing official business in a second language.

I hope this bullshit gets heavy regional news coverage. And I hope it pisses off the people it was meant to scare, and that they turn out in droves at the polls.

Link via Ezra at TAPPED.

Pregnant with potential

A week or so ago, I was on a conference call with a woman named Lynn Paltrow, who's founded an organization called the National Advocates for Pregnant Women, or NAPW. We talked about the problems with "choice" rhetoric, which imply that everything about pregnancy and reproduction are somehow in women's control; the way that "pro-choice" has been reframed as "pro-abortion"; the problems those of us who are pro-choice run into when we try to talk about abortion as not only a political issue but also an emotional and ethical one; the division between individuals who are personally pro-life and the so-called pro-life leadership; the war on birth control; the problems with hospitals and doctors exercising their decision-making powers over the heads of their women patients; the ways that drug policy gets used as a tool against women generally and pregnant women specifically; and a whole host of other things. This is a fascinating and, from what I've seen, energetic new organization that's dedicated to bringing *together* the political, social, economic, and legal issues that tie up our abilities to make informed decisions about fertility and childbearing, and that together prevent (and perpetuate) personal and cultural distrust of individual women.

I honestly think that this child-bearing (or not) question is the root of contemporary feminism. For the most part, women without children are seen by society as "honorary men": cool, go to college, go to grad school, have a career, make money, own your own property, keep your name, run for office. But underneath all that, there's a lingering suspicion and set of questions about why you didn't "choose" to have kids. And if you do have kids, then suddenly you're caught up in a series of so-called "choices" about work and family and ambition and mobility and are you really doing things "for the children," or are you selfishly doing them for yourself?

But the thing is, women *create* children. With help from men, of course; but virtually all the work of turning a blueprint into a person is done by women. The vast, vast majority of women do not see or act as if their interests are opposed to their children's interests--except inasmuch as we, as a society, force them to do so by creating structures that insist on a false choice between being a person (who doesn't have a uterus) and being a woman (who does). The real opposition isn't between women and kids. It's about who controls your uterus and its reproductive capacity: you, or us?

I think, therefore, that a research and advocacy organization dedicated to the rights of pregnant women has ramifications for all women, pregnant or no. It's the ability to become pregnant that makes women "different," and that difference affects us all--fertile, infertile, mothers, childfree, childless, straight or lesbian, sexually active or no. Their website is well worth perusing. And they have a blog--check it out.

Even better, they're going to have a conference in Atlanta this coming January, which I plan to attend. I apologize to you all, and to NAPW, for not posting this in time for readers to apply for scholarships in order to attend; but if you can afford it or (as I plan to do) write it off as a business expense, I expect it to be both very educational and a fabulous organizing/networking opportunity.

Plus I, personally, will get to see my real-life sister. Maybe if enough readers go, we can organize some kind of bitch and sister shindig: a one-time opportunity to not only meet me, but get the real scoop. Because who knows any of us better than a sister?

Irony

I lived for years in a place that's already had snow this year, teaching students with their various germs. I don't think I got sick once in the last two years.

Now I live in a warm and sunny place where the tropical flowers are still in bloom, I can still go outside barefoot, and I was too warm today when I went out wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

And of course, I have a head cold.

More questions about my new neighbors

Transcript of a convo between me and Phutatorius' Chestnut (who may or may not be blogging at Is There No Sin In It?, it's kinda hard to tell).

Me: may i solicit your expert opinion on something?
PC: I am moderately happy with my long distance
PC: or, did you want to pick the something?
Me: lol
Me: no. here's the question:
Me: middle-aged southern californian men in pressed slacks and golf shirts: how can you tell the difference between "wealthy southern cali suburbanite" and "old queen"?
PC: politic answer: you can't! everyone poops...
Me: right, right.
PC: my answer: normally shoes, if socks match the shirt
PC: often car. often through jewelry.
Me: jewelry, check.
Me: i'll have to start checking out my neighbors' cars more closely
PC: old queens have a certain type of jewelry that tries to look young, but middle aged men often have a gold chain or an old high school ring or something
PC: I think though that this population you have stumbled across is very hard to tell: old queens have caught the peterpan syndrome as much as any gay man (unless they are in a committed relationship, and then the tend to "act their age") while middle-aged straight men are often going through a midlife thing.
Me: see? exactly. it's confusing.
Me: alas for the days of the earring code.
PC: as a result, they both act sort of desperate, immature, and solipsistic
Me: well, see, this is why i need to know. because if they're old queens, great: we'll get along like peas in a pod. but if they're middle-aged suburbanite straight guys, i don't want them to hit on me.
PC: you just can't tell by the bling and penis cars, you have to look for certain types of bling and penis cars. And, I'm not up on stuff enough to tell if a Land Rover is straight and Range Rover is gay gay gay.
PC: I go for broke gays.
Me: the two guys across the street (separate houses or i wouldn't be asking) both seem to drive older japanese cars
Me: see, i'm thinking old queens make good friends, b/c they have good booze.
PC: I never picked up on that before! hey, I have great booze? You are making me feel old.
PC: I have a subaru, so I'd like to say they are confident old queens, or married.
Me: i used to have great booze. i just mean money = the good stuff, you know?
Me: well, the one guy isn't married. the other guy from what i saw this morning either lives with a really butch woman, or with a kinda soft and dumpy man.
PC: subarus are not sexy. they are reliable and safe. the are for those who are confident to not drive a penis car, but are afraid of death.
PC: this means soccer moms, old women, and queens.
Me: subarus are sexy if you're a lesbian.
Me: I used to drive a subaru, darn it.
PC: soft dumpy man with japanese car already reminds me of my dad: might be a closet case, or religious, or both. In all cases, he's married to that woman, probably.
Me: if she's a woman.
PC: yeah, subarus are outdoorsy. Around here, if they are your primary car, see above. If they are your secondary car (often they are people's ski-weekend car, or Lake Tahoe car), then it just means you are rich.
Me: i think we're going to buy a prius. then i'm going to get a bumper sticker that says, "no really, i'm not a yuppie"
PC: Why don't you set up a test with your neighbors?
Me: ooh!
Me: such as?
PC: Invite them over for a drink in the backyard. Give them the choice of a beer, or a midori sour.
PC: Its cliche, I know. but its a nice standby that I use.
Me: lol
Me: good advice. but i'd have to buy midori. is there another drink that works? pimms, maybe?
PC: Not sure. My problem is that I often by a fancy beer, and when they go "Is that local microbrew a Heffeweisen?" I can't tell if they are one of these frat guys who are /way/ into beer, or a hip gay dude, or what.
Me: or just your average yuppie.
PC: yup. so, beware. there are multiple points of failure for these tests. Luckily, we have the same goals: if gay, then welcome. If not, subtly eject from house. Go buy some cheap ass beer.
PC: Also, find a game night, and invite him over while playing the dvd of Xanadu. If he gravitates towards the tv, he's a keeper. If he walks home with his cheap ass beer, let him go.

Um, hello? There's an election coming up?

So today I surfed on over (ha ha, geddit?) to the California Democratic Party website to sign up as a volunteer, see what's going on, start boning up on local initiatives and candidates.

My god. Check out that site. See, for instance, the page on the Party Voice. Here, you would think, you should find specific, concrete information about the California Dems' issues, their platforms, what they see as the primary political issues in the state.

Only, no. What you get is a lot of the laziest kvetching about the Republicans--seriously, I can bitch about Republicans more interestingly than this even before I have my coffee in the morning--and pretty much squat about what the Democrats actually believe. Other than we don't like Republicans. I mean, P.R. 101, people: how many times does the word "Republican" appear on the page that's supposed to outline the Democratic party platform? Is Mark Foley really the most important and galvanizing issue in the state of California? Because, you know, off the top of my head, I'm thinking: budget. Schools. Growth. Shit, have a platform that promises to cut waiting time at the DMV down to ten minutes--"your time is too important for us to waste"--if you can't come up with anything else.

And then there's the Election Page. Pictures of the candidates and their names. How helpful! Now I know what they're running on. Not, as we say around here. Well, maybe the Propositions--after all, I'm going to vote a straight party-line ticket, it's really the propositions that I want more information about. And I know that propositions in California are a big fat honking deal--shit, 1978's Prop 13 is still screwing with the state's budget and voter's heads. But all we get on the Democratic Party page is a list of what the initiatives are and how to vote on them. Gee, thanks guys. This is less information than I get in my voter's pamphlet.

The Press Room? Coverage of what the governor's doing. Oh wait, he's a Republican! Shit, there's even an "Arnold Page". Which, again, the most puerile and sophomoric kind of apolitical political discourse you can find.

None of this is going to appeal to anyone who isn't already a hard-line Democrat. Shit, I'm a hard-line Democrat, and it doesn't appeal to me. Who the hell is in charge of this site? What the fuck are they thinking? Why would anyone want to volunteer or donate or get involved in an organization that's so fucking bored with or indifferent to its own goals that it can't bother to articulate them? Unless the goal is to recruit volunteers by implying that they won't actually have much to do.

I volunteered anyway, and in fact, that is the impression one gets. You fill out the form, and you get a message saying, in effect, "we call on volunteers when we need them, don't be surprised if you don't hear from us for a while." Way to harness enthusiasm! Way to seem like a party of the people, rather than an indifferent organization that's even somewhat hostile to the input of its members.

You know, I've been getting mail every single day from the Republicans arguing that Angilides (the gubernatorial candidate) is going to raise taxes! Raise taxes! OMG, he's going to raise taxes! And it's pissing me off; here I am, with my koi pond and my quarter-acre lot and my gardeners, in a neighborhood where everyone has a new car in the driveway, the maids and gardeners are all arriving for work as I walk PK to school in the morning, the houses are all beautifully maintained showpieces, the neighbors seem friendly and relaxed, half the kids at the school seem to have stay-home moms and the other half show up in SUVs with mom in a nice suit on her cell phone dropping them off while already conducting business, the guy I chat with most while we wait for our kids to get out of school is a pretty rich businessman who's building a ranch house over the hills and takes his granddaughter out to ride horses every day after school while his daughter is in med classes at UCLA. These people are not hurting for money. And the Republicans think that the tax issue is *the* biggest thing they care about?

But at least it's an issue. I haven't gotten shit from the Democratic party, and I have to struggle to remember Angelide's name (which isn't even on the front page of their web site--there's one mention of "Phil," and three of "Arnold"). I don't give a shit about raising taxes, except that I'd like, you know, to know what they're being raised for. (In fact, the California budget is a fucking mess, and they do need to raise taxes--but the Dems don't seem to be making that case or talking about what needs to be funded.) I've seen the property tax assessments arrive for the landlord, and I imagine they're not spare change. It's the end of the year; people are aware of their property tax assessments, and taxes are on their minds. Why not give them something else to think about or care about during the election?

Like, oh, say, the extent to which standardized testing seems to be driving every fucking thing that's happening at PK's school, and what a pain in the ass it is to have fundraising letters and forms coming home every single day to help pay for music and arts education, and how often we get asked to volunteer at the school for playground duty, to help in the classroom, to help raise money, ad infinitum. Why not make the case that schools constantly dunning you for money and time, teachers pressuring you to keep your kid back a grade because he's only just starting to learn to read, homework that is clearly indicated to prep the kids to take standardized tests, and the growing suspicion that the teacher wants you to keep your kid back because the more kids who are working above their grade level, the better the school's test scores--why not make the case that all this bullshit is something that, you know, good public funding for schools could do a lot to counter? And that instead of focusing on Not Leaving Children Behind, we really ought to be working on Bringing Every Kid Forward--giving them challenging work, making school fun, teaching them music and art instead of how to bubble in forms, praising them for learning to read rather than holding them back so that they already know how to read by the time they start first grade, asking parents to volunteer to teach after school electives instead of sitting at the kitchen table nagging their kids to please, please finish the homework?

And this, mind you, at the supposedly "best" school in the district.

Because, you know, I neither know nor care how much of the $1500 I spent at Ikea was sales taxes. But I do care about the fact that the teacher wants permission to put PK in front of a computer monitor for 25 minutes every day so he can do stupid-ass computer crap to "help" him with his reading because he's "in danger of not meeting grade proficiency standards." Even though this morning on the way to school he read me a letter one of his kindergarten friends wrote him that said: "Dear PK. I hope you have fun in California. I will miss you. Your friend, Karen."

But reading and writing letters isn't part of the proficiency test. So it doesn't count. Practical literacy--like being able to communicate with other people, whether through first-grader's letters or through half-decent websites--isn't something we care about.

Okay, never mind, I'm staying.

The *real* neighbors just stopped by with fresh chocolate chip cookies, introductions, and the information that their daughters (11 and 13) "have heard of babysitting, and are very interested in trying it." Also a little card with their phone number.

SCORE.

Fuck it, I'm moving

Scene: Me, sitting here, thinking I need a nap. The doorbell rings. I open the door.

Two middle-aged women: Hello!
Me, with a sinking feeling: Hello.
TMAW: I'm Betty and this is Suzanne. We're just going door to door to talk to the neighbors about a few things.
Me: Uh-huh?
TMAW: Like, for instance, television. . .
Me: Oh shit, this is just not going to go well.
TMAW: . . . we all pretty much have televisions. Do you think that it's important for us to be selective about what we watch?
Me: We don't watch much television.
TMAW, smiling: There just really isn't very much that's good on, is there?
Me: Well, actually there's a lot that's good, it's just there are other things to do.
TMAW: True! And you know, there's something about that in here. . . (opening a bible to Proverbs)
Me: I'm sorry, I don't want to discuss religion.
TMAW: Not even a little passage from The Bible?
Me: No.
TMAW: You're not a Bible Reader?
Me (growing annoyed at the condescension and intrusiveness of this line of questioning when I've just said I don't want to discuss religion): I'm a Catholic, and I know the bible. I just don't choose to discuss religion.
TMAW, making a sad face: Ohhh. Did you have a Bad Experience?
Me: No. I just don't choose to discuss religion. Have a nice afternoon.



Actually, as I type this, I really regret the fact that I was so sleepy. If TMAW really were neighbors and I were a little more awake, I'd rather have invited them in, sat down, and talked about religion, values, politics, etc. Because the thing is, I actually think that the left and religious folks have a lot to talk about with regard to values and popular culture. And I'd like to know how TMAW vote.

Political news from the Golden State

It is really fucking weird to go to the DMV and see a framed picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger on the wall. Honestly, there should be a law against famous people becoming politicians. It's too freaky.

In other news, I have to take a goddamn driving test on Friday. What's really going to suck is if I fail the stupid thing. Also, did you know that the law in California is that pedestrians have the right of way whether or not there's a crosswalk or a light? From here on out, I'm utilizing that right, goddamnit. Hit me, and I will sue your ass.

Closets

My exciting plan today is to purchase more drawer organizers. Perhaps some for the linen closet, as well. I have to figure out some solution for the kitchen--why is it that a kitchen can be twice the size of our old one and yet somehow have less storage?

Answer: because I am the superior kitchen designer, and Mr. B. is the superior builder. But I digress.

This organizing update is my half-assed attempt at a cute intro to pointing out that today is National Coming Out Day. The Human Rights Campaign has some good info for straight allies, but alas, nothing on coming out to your parents about being a married woman with a boyfriend. Which I don't think I'm really going to be able to avoid doing now that we live near them and they'll be spending more time with PK. I actually caught myself a couple times censoring what I said about my cross-country drive when I first got here, because my dad was still around and was the one asking about the drive.

On the other hand, I also made a point of referring to the boyfriend by name when talking to PK in front of my dad. I had, as always when I go visit the Connoisseur, a bunch of new books that some of you sent PK. Dad, of course, was under the impression that these were all presents from me. He doesn't know about the blog, obviously--largely on the grounds that he doesn't know about the Connoissuer, because I think in a lot of ways my dad would get a big kick out of reading what I write. (Though I admit that, boyfriend aside, I'm not really sure I want to think of my parents as part of my audience.) In any case, I couldn't explain that the books were from blog readers. But it's important to me to talk normally about the Connoissuer to PK. So I told him that I'd gotten these books from the Connoisseur's place, as well as explaining that I was sorry to say I'd left PK's own personal houseplant (a succulent of some sort, which he's v. fond of) at the Connoisseur's by mistake, but "don't worry, the Connoisseur is very good with house plants and he told me he will take good care of it until I visit again and can pick it up."

Dad, being kind of an incurious sort, didn't think to ask who the Connoisseur was, but hopefully by setting these little clues in his path, it'll be easier when I do talk to him to make sure he realizes that whatever his opinions of monogamy might be, it's important to recognize that for PK's sake he needs to realize that the Connoisseur is a real person in our lives and that PK may occasionally mention him, I will occasionally be visiting him (and perhaps asking my dad to come down here and do the grandpa honors while I'm away), and that Dad has to not act like a freak about it in front of PK.

Somehow, though, I'm more worried about telling my mom. This isn't because I fear any kind of judgment on her part; it's more because maintaining boundaries with her is a constant vigil. What I actually anticipate is that she'll appropriate the information as proof of her inherent coolness for having such a radical for a daughter (sigh), and then I'll have to deal with frequent overly-bright questions about how C. is doing, when am I seeing C. again, when does she get to meet C., and so on.

Which is one of the possible consequences of coming out that HRC doesn't really address: the joy and pleasure of becoming someone's token. If any of you have ever dealt with that particular issue and want to share, feel free.

Surprisingly easy

And surprisingly mild. But tasty. The potatoes and zucchini are optional, of course, but they were mighty good.

Chicken: Sprinkle your chicken pieces with salt, pepper, and lime. The sauce measurements below are enough for probably 4-6 chicken breasts or a whole chicken. If you want, you can make the whole sauce recipe and then freeze part of it; it keeps well.

Peanut sauce: Slice an onion. Don't chop it really fine, you're going to throw it in the blender eventually. Put it and two cloves of garlic in a frying pan with no oil; heat 'em until the onion is transparent. Add half a stick of cinnamon, six cloves and six or so peppercorns, three or four dried chipotles (seeds and all), and stir it a bit while the spices toast. Pull the chipotles out and soak them in a little water or vinegar to soften. Add in about a cup of raw shelled peanuts (sans red peels) or you could probably get away with about 3/4 of a cup of peanut butter (the real kind, i.e., salt and peanuts, not the nasty-ass Jif or Skippy crap). Stir it up and let the peanuts toast while you wash four or five tomatoes (about a pound) and put them, whole, under the broiler for a few minutes. When the tomatoes are nicely grilled, put them in the blender along with the nut mix, and blend it up to a thick sauce. Add some chicken broth (or water) if you need to, but you shouldn't need much.

Brown the chicken in a fairly big pot or dutch oven, in about three tablespoons of oil. While that's happening, peel a few potatoes or sweet potatoes (one per person is fine) and boil them in some salted water. Slice up three or four smallish zucchini, or a couple big ones, or really, however much zucchini you like, add some butter, and set it in a glass bowl in the microwave.

Once the chicken's brown, take it out and put it on a clean plate (i.e., not the plate it was sitting on in the lime and salt, unless you like salmonella). Pour the sauce into the chicken pan and scrape up the bits on the bottom, stirring the sauce for about three minutes or so. Then turn it down and let it simmer for about fifteen minutes; add some more chicken stock if you like. Put the chicken back in, and simmer the lot until it's done--half an hour, ish, if the chicken was merely browned and still raw inside (which will let the chicken absorb more flavor; in this case, do add about another cup or two of chicken broth), or a few minutes sans extra broth if you browned it to the point of doneness, i.e., if you were using boneless breasts. Drain the potatoes and nuke the zucchini for about three minutes. If you like, mash the potatoes, but you needn't season them--they taste just great as is with the sauce.

Et, voila. This is my more chatty summary of Diana Kennedy's recipe for chicken with peanut sauce in The Essential Cuisines of Mexico.

Like a Rhinestone Cowboy

Your beloved former guest blogger No Nym sent me a link this morning to a blog about "the political uses of violence, for good and bad." Good reading for the pacifists among us; one of the things I liked best about Mr. B.'s time in the military was being forced to learn a more nuanced understanding of what Clausewitz called "politics by other means." War is, for good and bad, a political act as well as a moral one; the left is often accused of failing to recognize that. Falsely, I think, in general terms; but it's certainly true that there are some lefties with whom it's impossible to talk about the strategies or practicalities of war and its subsidiaries (strategy, covert action, mobilization, and yes, peacekeeping) in any other than black/white moral terms.

So, e.g., the war in Iraq: we're mostly agreed that it's unwinnable, unjust, illegal, a catastrophic waste of American and Iraqui lives. Strategically, it's stupid and always was: while the U.S. has gotten away with less overt acts of political violence in the middle east for a long time, and probably could still have done so for years--arguably an important tool of our policy in the region--outright war and frankly deposing a government is something that previous administrations have avoided (the latter) or pursued very cautiously indeed (the former). This not only because our interference is resented in the region--pretty much most nations are going to resent foreign strongarming--but because, duh, the middle east is not without power over us. We care about what's happening there not only out of some abstract sense of concern (e.g., Darfur) or because longer-term thinking recognizes that instability is, well, destabilizing; but because Iraq and Iran and Syria and Jordan and especially Saudi Arabia and even Palestine (etc.) have actual, real power over us in the forms of oil, alliances, and their own potentials for violence as a policy tool (e.g., terrorism, attacking Israel).

That's one reason why pulling out of Iraq is a tricky question. It's not just the moral imperative--you broke it, you bought it, as Colin Powell warned before he got brainwashed into shilling for the administration. It's also the practical and strategic one. If we bail, we're taking our hands off of a tricky and unpredictable situation that's definitely going to affect us, directly, for a long time to come. (Of course, if we pull out, we're hardly going to leave Iraq--we'll just go back to those lesser tools of covert action, strategic mobilization, tactical alliances, and so on.)

Which brings us to Korea. Ironically, it's the Bush administration, rather than the left, that's approached North Korea with a clear, simplistic moral attitude: they're a "rogue nation," and we don't negotiate or talk with evildoers.

And look where it's gotten us. Kim may or may not have a nuclear bomb that's big enough to threaten South Korea (or Japan), and we don't really have any way of knowing for sure because we've pretty much cut off contact with him. The major political tool of military strength is all tied up in Iraq, and Kim knows it; we don't have a lot of leverage over him, and we haven't been using what we have. Now we get to squawk on the sidelines and run around all a-flutter. We've not only encouraged terrorism in the middle east, by giving a lot more folks good reason to hate our guts; we've pretty much embraced terrorism in Korea, by ignoring an obvious problem until it's gotten so big we can't ignore it any longer, and then freaking out over an entirely predictable situation. The Bush doctrine: passive-aggressive foreign policy. How fabulously rugged of us: nice hat, but the cattle are all mired up to their necks in a swamp we pushed them into because we thought we'd look so manly, standing all alone up on dry ground.



Speaking of manliness and Korea, if you havent seen The Brotherhood of War, definitely put it on your Netflix queue or look for it at your local good video store. Fabulous film about the Korean war; one of those marvellous movies that really opens up the emotional landscape of masculinity and violence.

Well--How did I Get Here?

Now that we're the standard nuclear family (dad works long hours, mom stays home, kid goes to school all day), we put off errand-type things until the weekend. So, this weekend, we made the pilgrimage that all those who have recently moved are required to make, to offer prayers to the goddess Ikea for a happy and well-appointed life in the new home.

Which is to say, we went to look at bookshelves, one o' them there "media center" things that people apparently have, and a bunkbed for Pseudonymous Kid.

$1500 later, we come out of the place with:

Two coolio lamps that look like crystal balls;
Two faux-Japanese style floor lamps with long rectangular shades made of wrinkled paper;
A bunkbed;
A hanging lamp that looks like Saturn and casts different-colored shapes of stars, planets, etc. onto PK's bedroom walls;
Two irresistably cute glowing bedside night lights that look like little rubbery bathtoy ghosts; you tap them on the head to turn them on and off. One glows blue and the other red, and I have declared that they are aliens, not ghosts, because aliens go better with the Saturn lamp;
Two mattresses, a bedspread, and eight pillows to make a reading nook on the bottom bunk;
One of those ridiculous hanging net tubes with holes in it they sell for kids' room storage, in green;
Four shelf units and something like a zillion different-colored bins, for toy storage. Two of the shelf units also act as steps, for further kids' room fun;
New plates, and bowls in various colors of poppy red, navy, melon green, and white. Alas, there were only one red plate and salad plate left in red;
Four new faux-Japanese aesthetic big coffee mugs (no handles) with poppy-colored generic flowers and melon-colored leaves, on white, that match the plates and bowls;
All new tupperware! I'm throwing the stuff with the mismatched lids out!
A couple dozen large and small glasses; the mason jars and disposable cups are joining the mismatched tupperware lids in ye landfille;
A strainer;
Two new chef's knives, to replace the (much better and pricier) Henckels we got for our wedding but broke the tip off of last year;
Sixteen as-yet unstained white napkins;
Wastebaskets;
Drawer organizers;
Wicker baskets for closet shelf storage;
Something like twenty feet of garage shelving.

I confess that despite sternly explaining to PK that he should pick the one ghost/alien lamp that he liked best, he picked the red one; the blue was my favorite, so I tossed it in the basket anyway.

I further confess that we emerged from the Ikea maze as the store was closing, that we had four shopping carts of shit, and that it took us about an hour to figure out how to fit it all into my uncle's mid-80's era Cheyenne pickup truck.

I also confess that we ended up not buying any bookshelves or "media center"(s), on the grounds that I am determined that $1500 worth of Ikea crap does not count, and we are now officially past the stage where we buy Ikea furniture and we are going to go to a real live grownup furniture store for those things. AKA, probably, the Crate & Barrel outlet that's about an hour and a half away.*

Though this might be rather difficult, because PK got carsick on the way to Ikea. Though he sometimes gets a li'l queasy, he's never puked before. I blame the inevitable traffic jam, the sun, and the lack of a/c in my uncle's truck. Much to my astonishment and pride, he has reached the stage where he will wait to vomit/hold the vomit in his mouth (I know, gross--I won't do this myself) while I scramble to find something, anything! for him to puke in. (It ended up being an empty plastic bag of Windex wipes that Mr. B. had bought to clean the very dusty and neglected truck interior.)

We pulled off the road to give PK a break, discard my Windex wipe bag full of orange juice vomit, and perhaps find something cold for PK to sip on. Luckily, we ended up in swanky Sherman Oaks, where we found a decent sandwich shop/bakery. PK threw up a second time (yes, he made it to the bathroom), had some Sprite and (eventually) a strawberry tart and cheese pizza, in that order. I had a latte--oh, blessed lattes--and relaxed under the commiserative gazes of a family with an adolescent son at the next table. The mom offered me a few empathetic smiles, and when she and the son went to get some cookies, the dad asked me sympathetically if PK was coming down with something, and nodded when I explained that it was merely traffic-induced car sickness. Mr. B. went on a hunt for a new, and clean, t-shirt for PK, who ended up with a Superman shirt from the comics shop down the street. We all wandered down to the comics shop afterwards to stretch our legs a bit, and resisted buying the new Sock Monkey or some Star Wars comics ("there are Star Wars comic books?!") for PK, who is clearly destined to become a comics geek.

I also hear that North Korea tested the bomb yesterday, but out here in our beautiful house, we find it frighteningly easy to ignore life during wartime.

Yes, I know we are going to hell.



*Also, patio furniture and end tables--though I hope to get these at the more boutiquey-style places, rather than C&B, because I want to get something that's got either some Mexican or Mission style to it. I am pretending that all this acquisition doesn't lock us into "needing" a house as big as this one next time we move.

Ask a Bitchy Feminist

I'm dusting off this feature and digging into some old email. Hope the correspondent is still around.

I've been lurking lately and finding your blog interesting. A question that occurred to me the other day when you mentioned something about taking your kid to work: how would you feel about office staff doing the same thing? I consider myself a feminist. I've worked for a couple of academics who called themselves feminists, but were worse in the chauvinist-pig area than most men I worked for--to these women, feminism meant, "be completely selfish."

I'm certainly not suggesting you fit this profile. I am wondering whether you think an academic, by nature, deserves perks that those who work in a department office do not. If so, is this belief based on differences in educational level? What if your office administrator has a Ph.D.?

The obvious problem for office staff, as opposed to professors, is simply the question of having one's own office vs. not having one's own office.

That said: ime, PK doesn't stay in my office when he comes to work with me. I hiss at him and scold him to stay, but he inevitably goes out and plays in the hall. None of my colleagues has said anything, and I'm hoping they're not gritting their teeth and resenting me.

But onto your question: I, personally, see zero problem with office staff bringing in children. The chair's secretary in our department occasionally brings in her teenagers (who usually get put to work filing stuff for her, hee!). Littler kids are of course, a little more difficult, because rowdier, but in principle I don't see why anyone in an office environment shouldn't be able to occasionally bring in babies or young children. Personally, when I do it, I don't bring the kid in all day--usually the maximum is a couple hours--and I don't get a lot of work done. I'm thinking out loud here about times when I've done secretarial work and whether or not having PK around would have driven me nuts. But obviously that depends on the kid and the worker.

At some point in the utopian future, we'll undoubtedly have fully-staffed daycare on all college campuses, with emergency drop-in privileges for students, staff, and faculty. Maybe sometime before that individual departments or offices will set aside the odd unusued office or corner of the faculty lounge or enclosed outdoor patio space next to a window (so they kids can be checked on occasionally) for staff and faculty to let their kids draw on the chalkboard or play for a little while while they get some stuff done.

In the meantime, though, folks are just going to have to be a little patient from time to time.

(As to the selfish feminists thing, well, I'm sure we've all known women and men who didn't seem to live up to the ideologies they espoused. A lot of the times it's just plain ol' human jerkiness; in the specific case of feminists, I think a fair bit of it is probably an externalization of the internalized pressure that high-achieving women put on themselves. And probably also some of the inevitable result of the stresses of feeling overburdened. Stress doesn't always make people nicer. At least, I prefer to look at it that way, because it makes it easier for me to be patient myself.)

Unpacking

Why do I own a road map of Cleveland? I don't think I've ever been to Cleveland.

Meet some crazy people

1. Some crazy person in Missouri is trying to have Alison Bechdel's fabulous book Fun Home banned from the library. It's not clear if this is because it's about her dad being teh gay, if it's about her dad committing suicide, if it's because Bechdel herself is teh gay, or if it's because it's a graphic novel. Probably the whole lot all together. Still, if you've read it (and if you haven't, buy the damn thing already, it's great), you know that it's a fabulous book. It even promotes the classics, for god's sake.

2. BritFriend sent me a link to a news item that, in the UK, women are no longer entitled to equal pay with male peers who don't take maternity leave. As I said to him, I actually have mixed feelings on this, which the article he sent sums up nicely:

The court rejected her claim against the Health and Safety Executive, stating that additional years of service allowed for greater experience which in turn led to improved work performance.

This justified the extra salary paid for length of service even though there was an in-built bias in favour of men who did not take time off to care for children.

Leena Linnainmaa, the president of the European Women Lawyers’ Association, suggested that the situation would only become fairer for women when men took more paternity leave, something most did not do even though they had the right to in most European countries.

On the one hand, seniority pay seems reasonable to me. On the other, the simple fact is that men do not take, and are not eligible to take, maternity leave. If a company (or a country) provides maternity leave, but not paternity leave, then paying less to women who take it is, I think, clearly discriminatory. On the other hand, if they offer both maternity *and* paternity leave, and if the paternity leave is as long as the maternity leave, then I'd say fine, legally. Although I imagine that in the real world, the dad's company may not offer such leave, and the fact that it's legal to discriminate in pay if someone takes it is probably *more*, not less likely to encourage men not to do so.

Fuck it, man. We need to just make paid parental leave for both parents mandatory.

3. I realize saying that demonstrates that I am the crazy one. If you need further evidence, I agreed to be an editor for a new wiki of Academic Blogs. Henry Farrell at CT did all the work putting it together, and says a little about it here. As soon as I get my act together, it'll replace the "Professoriate" part of my own blogroll, which is a pain to keep updated (so I haven't, lately, which is bad). The nice thing is that academic bloggers can add themselves (or remove themselves, if they get Dooced and have to take down their blog or something). Super dooper.

Let's (not) talk about sex

Here, if you wish, is the link, with mp3 podcast, of yesterday's discussion on Open Source about the Foley scandal.

In a nutshell, what I was saying is that it isn't just a simple "sex sells" or "Americans are Puritans" situation. The timing and broader significance of this thing, I think, are why it's a big deal--after all, it's not as if we haven't had previous Republican sex scandals. David Hagar, Bryan Doyle, and my own Governator: any of those ring a bell?

But the Foley thing, I think, is different. First, we're a month away from midterm elections.

Second--and this is the point I was really trying to make on the air yesterday--I think that it really speaks to the heart of the Republican Party's platform in the last few years, which is all about the public/private divide. Are abortion, birth control, gay marriage private issues, or are they subjects for public policymaking? Do the problems of the workforce for parents with families constitute a public crisis, or are they merely the inevitable result of private decisions that women make about whether or not to work? Are we willing to give up our privacy in order to secure public safety? Is protecting the "homeland"--and if any sphere is defined as private, the "home" is--from political problems of the larger public world really what the Iraq war is all about? Does the renewed Patriot Act go too far by suspending the habeas corpus rights of private individuals in order to protect the American public? Does that same American public have a right to know about classified reports on issues of national import? Should the private individuals who leak classified material to public forums be considered traitors or heroes? Do we need public records of what happens in the privacy of the voting booth?

This stuff is key for the Republicans. They have built their house on the ideas that the private arena of sex, gender, and sexuality is a matter of public concern, and that the public's right to know and debate political decisions threatens the government's need to keep such decisions private--for the public good. It's pretty significant that this Foley thing is the public scandal that's keeping Woodward's book and the new Patriot Act's dismissal of habeas corpus off the front pages and the nightly news. And I think that, on some unrecognized level, Foley's role as scapegoat for Republican family values hypocrisy serves as a synechdoche for the much bigger Republican hypocrisy of turning the public and private spheres inside out.

And then there's the fact that it's an internet scandal--captured in IM, discussed all over the blogosphere (at the time of writing, "Foley" is the top search word on Technorati; "Mark Foley" is number three. The internet plays a key role in all of these other public / private issues, too: its ability to spread information quickly, our ability to dig beyond mainstream American news sources, its role in grassroots electioneering and political organizing, are all various said to be making a huge difference, or to be making no difference at all. In both the family values discussion and the political arena, the internet's ability to bring the public world into the private home (and vice-versa) generates celebration but also anxiety.

So I don't think it's a coincidence that Foley's IMs with a 16-year old page, or a few of them, is a big deal. Nor do I think it's merely vouyeristic sensationalism. I think that the publication of Foley's private flirtations with young people he knew because their first forays into the public sphere brought them in contact with him, and the questions about whether his private flirtations constituted an abuse of his public responsibility and whether Hastert covered up the situation (kept it private) to keep it from becoming public--I think all of this stuff is touching a nerve because it's playing out in ways that highlight our contradictory ideas about publicness and privacy.

In any case, I hope it creates a big difference in our public representation when all those Americans go pull the privacy curtains on those voting booths. Because while I don't personally give a rat's ass what Foley thinks is hot, I do think we're well overdue for some big public changes. Contradictory it may well be, but I'm rather fond of the traditional American relationship between private and public, where what I do with my private parts isn't the public's business, and what the government does with public policy, is.

So long, farewell, auf Wiederlehren

(Orange's last guest post...unless inspiration strikes later today)

A hearty thanks to Dr. B for sharing her bully pulpit with me, No Nym, John Patrick, and BritFriend. Sure, she may think the guests were doing her a favor, filling in some bandwidth while she fixed up the house, sold the house, packed all her family's worldly possessions by herself, and moved to waterfront property—but me, I loved the attention that accompanies writing for thousands of people a day rather than my usual [smaller number redacted]. No Nym says, "I'm not sure the vanity returns are worth the effort." Dude, you're not a Leo, are you?

Gadzooks, this is week nine of guest blogging? Time flies when you're thoroughly entertained by lively commenters. I'll see you around these parts, over in the comments window. And of course, you're welcome to swing by my blogs (Orange Tangerine and Diary of a Crossword Fiend) when you're out running errands on teh internets. I'll leave the door unlocked.

Hey, you're kinda cute online

(Guest post by Orange.)

Between the blog-cosmos and e-mail, you know what happens from time to time? You encounter kindred spirits, people who write things so clever or insightful that they seem to be channeling your own thoughts, if only you could write so eloquently. And thus ensues the delicious phenomenon of the intertubes-based intellectual crush.

Come on, 'fess up—you know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you? The intellectual crush may be someone you'd date in real life if you met them, or someone you wouldn't remotely be attracted to, or someone of a sex other than the one you're interested in (e.g., you're both straight people of the same sex, or you're a straight woman and he's a fabulous gay man).

If you like writing and you like reading, and you encounter the writing of someone brilliant and funny, oooh, that's juicy. I'll bet you can think of a couple people right now who fit your personal category of "brainy dreamboats who make you swoon in at least a hypothetical way." I don't know about you, but I'm apt to fall for people who have a ginormous vocabulary of $10 words and are adept at using these words correctly; wit is also essential. I can forgive the occasional typo, but I could never bring myself to have an online crush on anyone who doesn't write well.

The beauty of the internet crush is that on the internet, nobody knows you're a dog—or a man or a woman, or cute or plain, or sitting around in baggy pajamas. Rather, you can be judged on the merits of your mind. This opens the door to intellectual flirtations freed from the confines of reality. Some of you may remember having a straight girl's crush on another girl. (My most memorable one of these was around age 13, when an older girl who was a YWCA youth-group leader was just perfect—I craved her attention and, oh, how I wanted to be her.) I presume boys, as well as grown men and women, can get smitten with role models, too, aside from sexual orientation—I've witnessed a woman swooning over Tertia (and why not?) and a man swooning over Michael Bérubé (who wouldn't?).

And there are no geographic limitations—you can have internet crushes from thousands of miles away. You may have a particular interest in an abstruse topic that fascinates exactly nobody in your circle of friends and family—but online, you can mingle with a slew of like-minded people…some of whom may be eminently crushworthy because of their brainpower.

Most crushes are like chocolate sauce—your dinner is certainly complete without it, but it lends a sweet and intoxicating touch and enriches the experience in a most delicious manner. Sure, it'd be unhealthy to live on a diet of just chocolate sauce. But isn't it fun to cultivate a few intellect-based crushes, enjoy feeling smitten from time to time, and hone your flirting skills via e-mail and blog comments?

Me, on NPR

In about twenty minutes--sorry for the late notice, but those of you who are around can listen to me talk about the Foley scandal, sex, and public discourse on Open Source tonight. W00t!

We have these in our backyard, too

Did you all see the NYT's recent article about monarch butterflies? They migrate from Mexico as far north as Canada and back again--only they do it over several generations, and no one is sure how each generation figures out its part of a route no single butterfly entirely covers.

The sad part of the article is that because of development, farming changes, and deforestation in Mexico, the monarch's habitat is diminishing. Like every other wild thing's habitat these days. (Which is why I don't begrudge the heron for eating one of the koi, which are hardly a native species, anyway.)

But it turns out there's this nifty organization called Monarch Watch. Not only will they sell you a seed kit to create some monarch habitat (including the milkweed that makes them taste nasty to birds) in your yard, or at your kid's school, but they've got absolutely tons of neat stuff for kids or gardeners. I'm totally going to bookmark this site for spring Easter basket shopping. Plus, some resources for K-9 classroom (or home schooling) use. Nice resource.

English doesn't suffice.

(Dammit, BritFriend, I was about to go to sleep, but you dragged me onto the table with that post about Michelle Malkin)

American English and Filipino English are my first languages, but when it comes to cursing someone, I just feel they are too bland. Insulting in English relies on a lot of name calling, and in the case of Michelle Malkin, really the worst thing I can possibly call her is "Michelle Malkin."

Edit: I originally had a list of mean things that I wasn't going to call that Michelle Malkin, but in the light of day, I realized that listing the things that you don't call someone is effectively calling them that. It was distracting. Props to the guardian angels in the comments section.

Besides, most of the components of my insult above have a misogynistic undertone, which is just sloppy. I don't want to hate women; I want to curse someone.

And yes, I am especially contemptuous of her because she is Filipino American, like me. Even though I usually rail against making others the Ambassadorship of their ethnicity to Non Brown America, I am violently disgusted by how that Michelle Malkin represents my people.

The same misogyny-based insults exist in Philippine languages, of course, but those insults paled in comparison to the more spiritual ones. Pangit; She's ugly on the inside. Wala siyang hiya; she has no shame.

(I'm always having to explain "shame" to my students. Americans sometimes have "shame" attached to their bodies, but usually not to their actions. Americans have "embarassment" which is distinct from "shame" in that "embarassment" requires an audience, whereas "shame" is internal.)

I am not a hateful man. I don't want to be known for my ability to insult a woman I've never met. Yet I would hate myself if I didn't speak out against that pangit Michelle Malkin who wants to intern Muslim and Arab Americans. I am not a violent man, but I do fantasize about slapping her across the face with a sweaty gym sock.

Anyway, it's getting late, so I don't want to stay up and reinvent fresh new insults for that waste-of-humanity. You can read my curse to her here, and if you don't find it strong enough, you may leave one of your own in the comments section.

UPDATE: The point (and I did not make it clearly above) is that's it's hard work to say something mean in English when you need to. And yes, I will examine more closely the fact that I lose my mind every time I think that I share cultural ties to this person.

Free Speech For Tariq Ramadan?

Michelle Malkin doesn’t get nearly enough ….um……love [Ed: let's substitute "attention." Although I maintain that she gets as much attention as she deserves here (i.e., none, usually).] on this website. She is after all one of the bigger kids in the new media playground and, as we all know, a very strong proponent of free speech.

Despite the fact that she has missed a couple of opportunities to stand up for the principle in its purest form, Michelle has always been front and centre in the fight to make Islam a subject about which we can all air our views. In fact, since today is the one year anniversary of those cartoons being published in Jyllands-Posten, she has again returned to the subject by posting a picture of a racist bobblehead doll on her homepage.

It is therefore with barely concealed anticipation that I am waiting for Michelle and her friends to whip up support for Tariq Ramadan, a prominent Muslim thinker and Senior Research Fellow St Antony’s College, Oxford (update: nothing on her site so far). As Tariq explains in today’s Washington post, his problem is that he can’t lecture in the US because the authorities find him and his affiliations offensive. They have, therefore, refused him a visa on three separate occasions.

There would of course be little to complain about if Prof. Ramadan were simply a standard issue fanatic but he's more important than that.

Though controversial in both Europe and the Middle East he is one of the (if not the most) prominent Islamic scholar(s) pushing for reform from within the faith. He is also extremely popular with my Dad since he has sparked and driven a large strand of the debate about a reformist/protestant Islam i.e. a culture/faith that both stays true to its roots and emphasises democracy, multiculturalism and non-violence. All this adds up to a centre point for the growing group of young Muslims who want to both live peacefully in the West and maintain a link to their cultural roots.

This willingness to criticise from within, combined with the credibility his strong views have created amongst Muslim emigrant populations make Ramadan exactly the kind of person we should be engaging in discussion. He may not be an entirely comfortable partner but is surely an extremely useful one - possibly even a Gorbachev or a Yeltsin who can speak both to and for the angry young Muslims who worry us.

In the long term, I hope that the US (and Egypt, Tunisia and Saudi Arabia) get round to inviting this guy in for a chat.

In the short term, I keep pressing reload on michellemalkin.com but nothing much seems to be changing…..