More walls

New paint

I finally finished painting our bedroom - a project we just casually started over the weekend. I put on a base coat of Benjamin Moore's Navajo White, and color washed over that with Georgia Green, mixed 1:4 with Benjamin Moore's clear glaze. I'm pretty pleased with the results, although it was a lot of work. It's nice to no longer have to stare at the arctic white walls that all the unwallpapered surfaces of this house were painted in. Now our bedroom is soft and green and warm.

A pig in the ocean

For some reason I am obsessed with my poor little pig-sister swimming in the ocean (the photo comes from the news article on the pig - if you look under the photo you will find a link to a slideshow with more pix). The photo they use in the main article - the one here looking straight into the pig's face - almost looks like it has emotion and thought. With this image, it's easy to anthropomorphize and imbue the pig with human reactions, human feelings. Babe: Pig in the Ocean. But if you go to the slideshow you will find more photos which show the pig as she is - alien. Is it the geometry of the face? The spacing and relationship of the features that fools our brain into thinking - like human? Or is it the romanticism of the story? Is it the metaphor?

I love the metaphor of it all - the little shock and pinprick of humor at seeing such a crazy metaphor made real. I feel a gennuine kinship for that pig. I know how it feels to be cold and alone and not in a safe place. And tired. Very, very tired. You can't let your guard down, you can't stop paddling, or you'll go under. And the temptation to stop paddling and let gravity do it's work is tremendous. But the piglets want you back. You know that they're huddled under a banana leaf somewhere, waiting for you. So you keep paddling, snout up, and hoping that you're heading in the right direction, even though you're just swimming into deeper water.

I keep imagining different stories for how she got into the ocean:

Story 1 - Grabbed by a Wave

There she is, the poor little pig-sister, happily munching on some taro root, following this crazy smell onto the beach. All innocent and full of the pigginess of it all. The weather is a little rainy and gray. The ocean is large and angry. One minute pig-sister is on the beach and the next the ocean has reached up and pulled her into itself.

Story 2 - Chased into the Ocean

It all started with these boys, these human boys. Loud and hungry, they saw pig-sister wallowing in the mud. They wanted a nice pig dinner and chased after her with their rocks and their little guns. She ran for the safety of the river, but the current was too strong and she was swept out to sea.

Story 3 - A Pig Tries to End it All

What does a pig really have to live for? What joy is there in life? Is this really all there is - the dirt and the taro root and the loud boys chasing you, throwing rocks that sting and bite, running until you're tired and you're feet hurt and you don't know where you are? Better to turn to the cold, clammy arms of mother ocean.

Story 4 - What's on the Other Side?

The sea is immense! Look at it there (thinks pig-sister), just look at it! It goes on forever! How can there be so much water in this world? Is it really all just ocean from here? I wonder what's on the other side? She tells pig-brother of her wonder.

Pig-brother says: These questions are foolish and pointless. Who cares what's on the other side? The taro-root is here. The banana leaves are here. The pig-husbands and the pig-wives and the pig-lets are all here. Our life here is good.

Pig-sister pointedly replies: The loud boys with rocks and guns are also here.

Pig-brother responds: But we can always run. They only catch the slow and the old, and that will never be us.

Pig-sister says again: But what else is out there? Maybe there is something better out there. I think I will find out.

Catch of the day...

is apparently pork-of-the-sea in Hawaii!

The fishermen said the 40-pound feral pig seemed relieved to be rescued...

No one knows for sure how long the pig was swimming or how she got nearly a mile off shore.

I know how you feel, pig-sister, sometimes you're just a teeny tiny pig lost in a strange and tiring alternate reality, trying gamely to paddle your fat little legs and keep your snout above water.

I had forgotten Walt Whitman

From Song of Myself

52
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab
and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yaws over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd
wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

Why I love the Manolo...

I love The Manolo because he writes things like this:

It is like the handsome woman in the full-bloom of middle age, demanding that you judge her not by the shallow and popular standards of our day, but by that which is eternal and unchanging. That there are many who will not recognize her beauty does nothing to diminish it.

Two words of the day (for the price of one!)

Today, I bring you two words of the day (for the price of one!). The first word is:

choice (chois) n.

1. The act of choosing; selection.
2. The power, right, or liberty to choose; option.
3. One that is chosen.
4. A number or variety from which to choose: a wide choice of styles and colors.
5. The best or most preferable part.
6. Care in choosing.
7. An alternative.

Choice is power. Choice is an action of power, an ability to choose paths, an affirmation of freedom. When we lose choice, or when we realize that we don't really have choices, we lose freedom and we lose power.

The second word is Lexapro:

Escitalopram (Lexapro, Lexaprin, Cipralex, Sipralexa, Entact and Seroplex)^[1] is an antidepressant of the selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI) class. It is approved for the treatment of major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder; other indications include social anxiety disorder, panic disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Escitalopram is the S-stereoisomer (enantiomer) of the earlier Lundbeck drug citalopram (Celexa), hence the name escitalopram. Escitalopram is noted for its high selectivity of serotonin reuptake inhibition and, as a result has fewer side effects not related to its serotonergic activity.^[2] The drug is marketed in the United States under the name Lexapro by Forest Laboratories and elsewhere under various brand names by Lundbeck.

Something about taking medicine to change my internal chemistry and alter my perception of the world in a permanent rather than transient way really bothers me. A good friend of mine suggested that it might be a loss of power/loss of control/loss of choice issue, and the more I gnaw at, chew over, and roll my mind around these hard to understand feelings of fear and anger and sadness the more I think she is right. It's hard to have your face rubbed into the fact that in the grand scheme of things, you are powerless. You are a honu floating in a giant and uncaring sea. You cannot control even how you feel.

At the very least, you think, you should be able to trust your feelings to guide you as you float along, but suddenly you are told that you can't even trust them. They are valid, they are how you feel, but they're inappropriate for the situation. You must change them, but you are powerless to do that on your own. Your brain needs to be reset chemically. You are wrong.

And you don't really have a choice about whether you try this medicine or not - everyone says it will make you better, everyone says your quality of life will improve, how could you not do this? How could you not try to make the lives of your children and your husband better by not having to subject them to your awfulness?

There really is no choice.

You really have no power. Not at home, not at work, not in life.

What were you thinking?

Some days you just have to wonder what you were thinking, getting an education where the employment prospects are so dim (well, where the jobs are not the kind that you are interested in). I guess it's not really fair to blame your young self because your old self is a different person.

Lessons learned from recent failed interview - learn to fake enthusiasm better, be better prepared, it's hard to get something like a job if you can't show that you want it.

I looked at business school applications last night. Somehow writing blog posts,which are basically essays, are so much fun, but looking at a business school ap where you are forced to write essays is a totally different beast. And also brought with it all the horrible memories of taking classes and exams and having homework. No thanks. And of course there is also the cost of business school.

I need a plan.

The thoughtful dresser

One of my boyfriends (it's always neck and neck between Cary Tennis and The Manolo) has led me to a great new blog, The Thoughtful Dresser, by a British writer/journalist who writes on life and fashion. She is very funny but also thoughtful (as her blog states) - her blog's motto is:

Because you can't have depths without surfaces.
Linda Grant, thinking about clothes, books and other matters.

I like this quote she has on her sidebar from a book about a very serious and sad time in recent history:

'The only true and lasting meaning of the struggle for life lies in the individual, in his modest peculiarities and his right to these peculiarities.' (Vasily Grossman, Life and Fate.)

The post which caught my eye today is this one with a still from Ugly Betty and an Edith Wharton quote:

It's almost as stupid to let your clothes betray that you know you are ugly as to have them proclaim you are beautiful. Edith Wharton

I'm firmly of the belief that the image we project is supremely important to the way people respond to us. Dressing nicely and neatly projects (to me) an image of self-confidence. After further thought, I realize that for some of us it's actually a false shell.

Books for kids

My sister's son has started really enjoying books, and she asked me if I could recommend more books. Of course I said, sure, and then did nothing. Fortunately, Teeny Manolo has two posts on books for younger kids and books for older kids that lists really excellent books. I love the internet - it allows you to harness the work of others so that you can laze around all day eating bonbons (or working, whichever).

What's the cause?

CNN has this amazing graphic which shows the increase in obesity in the US since 1984. It's pretty amazing to watch the map go from no color to red (>25% of the population with a BMI of over 30). What is the cause? Why? It really blows my mind (and illustrates the power of images over words, as the "obesity epidemic" is something I've been reading about for a while now, but it didn't hit me so dramatically until I saw this graphic).

On beauty

From today's Manolo:

"And a spasm of pure rage passed through me. Who was this fat bastard to tell women that they were obese if they couldn’t fit into a size 10? To make clothes that half the population couldn’t wear? I am tired of fat men telling non-skeletal women that they don’t exist."...

It is difficult to desire physical beauty so intensely and yet have it denied to you, as the Manolo, from his own personal circumstances, can tell you.

Word of the day - equipoise - and poetry in unexpected places

I've been reading scientific journals again, and have been finding a lot of poetry (strangely). Today's find includes my word of the day - equipoise. Here are the first two definitions from wikipedia (which I love):

Equipoise is the state of being balanced or in equilibrium, usually connoting something that is a product of counterbalancing.

Equipoise is also a poetic term.

The phrase I found today's word of the day in was here (Nature Reviews Drug Discovery 6, 871-880 (November 2007)):

Thus endowed with remarkable regulation and an extraordinary versatility, the cell may respond decisively or maintain its equipoise as appropriate, filtering out signalling noise, resisting harmful assaults and orchestrating specific and coordinated responses. In this way, a strange harmony of contrasts is born from the union of two pivotal paradoxes — a simple complexity that enables the cell to exhibit a sensitive robustness.

It is pretty amazing the way the cell can exist in a complex and changing environment, and pick out the most relevant pieces of that environment to respond to. I think the "simple complexity" refers to the limited repertoire of biochemical mechanisms through which signals are relayed to the interior of the cell (the simple part) but the complexity refers to the actual architecture and wiring by which these simple mechanisms are connected - in ways that seem to me to be much more complex (possibly because of the way they originate) than man-made electrical engineering designs. And the "sensitive robustness" refers to the way the cell can respond the same way, repeatedly, to signal, even if the internal wiring is damaged, or suffering from other perturbations.

My reading from two days ago also had a pretty excellent passage (from The EMBO Journal (2007) 26, 4555–4565, Published online 11 October 2007):

These discoveries highlight unexpected flexibility in the genetic code, but do not elucidate how the organisms survived the proteome chaos generated by codon identity redefinition.

I like the idea of "proteome chaos" - it sounds so dramatic! - and "codon identity redefinition" - it sounds like gender reassignment, or something like that.

When I heard about the new airbus...

this was the first question that came to my mind:

Singapore Airlines: They'll take you there, but they won't let you come.

A boy tries skimboarding, part II

And stay tuned for still photos, also!

Cary Tennis is back!

Oh Cary Tennis, how could I have ever replaced you? Here he is writing about Halloween:

For just one night we let go of our precious, obsessional hold. We let go of the ringing cash register and the heavy, silent till.

A boy tries skimboarding

Tough week

It's been a tough week of cold surfaces and hard edges. Of bleak futures colored in grays and browns, and satisfaction found only in little droplets of blue, every now and then. True satisfaction is nowhere. The possibilities are passionless. Nothing matters.

I am eating too much, and I can feel the fat congealing around my middle. The food fills my belly but not my soul.

I had a job interview which I think went well. It's work I could do and do well, but do I want to? But if I don't do it, what would I do? How can I move forward in a way that will make me happy, when happiness is nowhere? It seems foolish to choose a possible future when all are equally palatable, but none are what I want to do. How to choose between mediocre choices?

Move over Cary Tennis, my new love is The Manolo

Sadly, Cary Tennis has just not been doing it for me this week. Where is the lyricism? Where is the poetry? The Manolo is my new go-to guy that's been picking me up. When you can't get what's good for your soul, at least you can get what's good (well, pretty) for your sole. My latest Manolo favories are this image, these shoes, and this column with the following quote:

“Oh, this tattoo of copulating unicorns? I got it when I spent the summer after law school working as a carny.”

Worry and distraction

We had a nice weekend in Santa Cruz to celebrate my last 30s birthday. By we I mean me and the hubby. My parents flew up to watch the kids for us, but now I'm terribly distracted from working on my job talk as they flew back into the fires of SoCal, and will possibly get evacuated. My sister is also near a different fire and is close to voluntary evacuations. I thank God that it rained here all last week, but worry about the SoCal people.

More Agressive Undergarments

Who knew women's undergarments could be so powerful? From Broadsheet:

For all the United Nations' diplomatic deliberation during the regime's violent crackdown on peaceful protesters, it just never considered sending panties to Burmese embassies. Oh, but the Panties for Peace campaign has -- that's exactly what they're urging women the world over to do.

There is some logic to this underwear offensive -- apparently junta members believe that women's panties (regardless of whether they are clean or dirty) will leech them of their power. "Not only are they brutal, but they are also very superstitious," Jackie Pollack, a member of the Lanna Action for Burma Committee, told the Guardian Unlimited. "Condemnation by the United Nations and governments around the world have had no impact on the Burmese regime. This is a way of trying to reach them where they will feel it."

Agressive countermeasures

From today's Broadsheet:

But I can't help yearning for a more aggressive solution like the the Security Bra, a garment "capable of returning the male gaze and electronically defining one's personal space" by setting off its own alarms.

What I'm doing instead of working on a job talk

I'm at home with a sick boy supposedly working on a job talk. The net result is I have a quote of the day, from a CNN.com article on a Maine middle school handing out contraceptives:

After an outbreak of pregnancies among middle school girls, education officials in this city have decided to allow a school health center to make birth control pills available to girls as young as 11.

The part I like is where they talk about being pregnant as if it were an illness, like chicken pox or measles - after an outbreak of measles among middle school girls, education officials in this city have decided to allow a school health center to make vaccinations mandatory before reentering school (I seem to remember reading something about this also in a New England town last year, although I can't remember if it was measles or whooping cough. What is it about New England?).

We are what we remember

I found this article at CNN.com (which lists occasional articles from Time magazine). The article made me cry (partly hormonal, yes, but it would have made me sad at any time). It highlights how ephemeral memory is, how chemically malleable and chemically based. It's also a well-told story, and I don't want to ruin the punchline any further, but I highly recommend reading it.

UPDATE: I got into a discussion with the hubby about what conclusions I draw from this article, where the upshot is that I'm kind of nuts (okay, I view the world in a very different way than he does). Here's what I draw from the article:

1. I start with the opinion that, for the most part, a lot of what makes a person an individual person is the sum of their memories. Memories and our interpretations of them often govern what actions we take and how we react to different situations. You can also call this experience.

2. From the article, we can see clearly that memories are highly malleable and manipulable by outside agencies, especially by chemicals. From experience, I would add that memories and interpretations of actions can also be affected by internal emotional states and also physiological states (injuries and illness clearly alter internal biochemistry).

3. Given 1 and 2, experiences and memories are subjective in such a way that is often unverifiable (given that external verification is often dependent on other people whose own memories are also subjective). This brings me to the very buddhist conclusion that everything may be (or is) an illusion.

4. Finally (and here's the part where I'm nuts), given that everything is an illusion, my ultimate conclusion (which is what I just told the hubby, and not the intervening thought processes) is that everything is meaningless. Which I don't always mean in a hopeless, despair-y kind of way, or in a there-is-no-cause-and-effect kind of way, or finally in a nothing-is-valid kind of way, just in a there-is-no-larger-story-arc, no-underlying-meaning-to-it-all kind of way. Again, in a very buddhist way of thinking - the only thing you can know is true is the moment you are in. And then it's gone and you are in the next moment.

Discuss.

Being a mother and a scientist

I'm very excited about the upcoming book on being a mother and a scientist - a collection of essays by scientists (including me) who are also mothers on the different ways they manage to do both. It's slated to come out in the spring of 2008, and they are currently looking for images for the cover. Here are the ones I submitted:

Often when I bring the girls into lab with me, they draw little pictures and tape them up everywhere. This is really fun as I sometimes don't notice them until the next day. This flower is one example of a drawing I found after their visit.



It's impossible to remove those aspect of me that are a Mom, the skills that I've learned mothering, from my other non-Mom interactions and it's impossible to remove the scientist in me from the non-scientist interactions. This is why I feel that this photo embodies what it is to be a scientist and a mother - a lot of being a scientist is a curiosity about the world, and here I am sharing that curiosity with one of my children.

Daring to go with Dangerous

I'm excited to see that a version of The Dangerous Book for Boys targeted towards girls, The Daring Book for Girls, will soon be available, and has at least one good review (I haven't looked for any others). I know targeting towards a particular gender is basically a marketing ploy that preys upon a societal emphasis on gender roles (good, bad or whatever), but it's nice to see that the girl version doesn't sound like it's all fashion dolls and home-making related activities.

Poem of the day, little girl style

I love you Mom I love you Mom
I love you Maya I <3 u
I love you Paco I <3 u
I love you Papa I <3 u
I love you cats
I love love cats
I love you bats
I love you Mom

(Note who gets the "most I love you"s (not that anyone's counting or anything))

I was home sick yesterday (really)

The kids needed rainboots. Honest.
(Please note how nicely they match my nailpolish! And only $7 at Payless! I couldn't afford NOT to buy them. Also, I didn't realize my feet were so veiny - ew.)

It's all about perspective and taking a step back

CNN.com has an article on job stress leading to health problems that I really enjoyed and wanted to share. What I found particularly helpful (and, yes, obvious but that doesn't make it any less valid or important to read every so often (or frequently) for those of us who are memory challenged and often live in the heart of the flame) is the advice on how to deal with difficult bosses and coworkers.

Elizabeth Cohen: In addition to being authors, you're consultants -- people come to you when they're stressed out about work. What's usually bothering them?

Katherine Crowley: Bosses!

Cohen: OK, so let me throw a few stressful bosses at you. Let's say a client tells you, "My boss doesn't appreciate me."

Kathi Elster: You have to detach and depersonalize. You're not going to turn this person into a caring, loving boss. You have to accept you're not going to change this person.

Crowley: That's right -- the stress comes from expecting something you can't get. If you need appreciation and acknowledgment -- which everyone does -- we suggest you find another way. Get colleagues to band together and acknowledge each other. Find other ways within the company to get this appreciation.

Cohen: Here's another one: How about the boss that explodes -- she just yells and screams.

Elster: This is where people take a lot of medication! You have to detach and depersonalize again. Accept that it's not about you, and watch them scream. Act a little bored. You have to see it as the other person's problem.

Note of the day

We need HELP! MOM!

What more is there to say?

Sidewalk ephemera

One of the cliches about kids is how close they are to their emotions, how on the surface everything is. And you know what - there is a reason for the cliches. I give you "Devotion, Little Girl Style":




You I love, tree! (Please note the inspiration for the chalk drawing in the first photograph - a calamansi tree (type of citrus). We love to drink the juice from the little fruits, which, I think, is the source of the devotion.)

Oh no! Long and lean is in

I was reading The Manolo and have discovered, to my horror (horror!), that in a review he linked to, long and lean is in! Long and lean is nice. Long and lean is sleek. Long and lean doesn't really work when you are short and kind of, well, not lean. Womanly. Perhaps curvy is the nice way to say it. But definitely NOT lean.

Irritating quote of the day

I was reading an article at the NYTimes on antidepressant use to treat menopausal hot flashes (not that I'm anywhere near there, but it's good to keep an eye out on what will come next), and found a supremely irritating sentence:

And while the drugs have been used safely for years in people with depression, there’s no long-term data on their use in healthy women with healthy brains.

I'll have you know that I'm quite healthy, thank you very much! It should have read - there's no long-term data on their use in healthy women not suffering from depession. Seriously. Did the author really mean to say that people who are depressed are sick? Is it really a sickness? I do not believe that I am sick, my internal chemistry is just different than some people who like to call themselves normal. But I function, I work, I am productive, I contribute.

Poem of the day

Eyes stare at me
Like stars blazing bright in the night sky,
so many...
so many...

Where are you?

Beach walk at Dillon Beach

My Dad was asking about where we stayed in Dillon Beach - our friends rented this house (includes pictures of inside the house, which was airy and light and had an amazing view of the beach). The highlight of our first night was a midnight hot-tubbing. We were far enough from civilization that the stars were plentiful and bright, with the milky way a lighter stripe across the middle of the sky. I even saw two shooting stars. There's nothing like talking about what you want in your obituary or how you approach religion, at midnight, in a hot tub, under the milky way and with several glasses of very nice red wine sloshing around in your tummy (I forget if it was zinfandel or pinot noir or both). Although it does sound so incredibly stereotypical of what you do in your midlife in California (Marin, no less).

The next day we actually made it into the water. The beach has nice long breaks suitable for longboarders and not that bad for wimpy little body boarders like me. I couldn't stay in the water too long, unfortunately, as I had to get out once I stopped being able to feel my toes. The kids frolicked in the sand and the sand dunes (which always makes me uncomfortable - EROSION!! MUST. SAVE. THE. BEACH!). After lunch, I enjoyed a long walk along the beach by myself. Here are some of the highlights:

1. The view of the town of Dillon Beach from the actual beach. I really like the color of the cliffs.


2. There were lots of cool things washed up on the beach.


Including a spot that looked like a crab graveyard.




and many, many jellyfish with both red structures inside,


and more purple-ish ones. Very pretty.


I also went on a walk up the hill to the general store with the boy. He's so cute!


The trip was way too brief!

The new bunk bed

Here are the pictures of the new bunk bed and the new bedding (finally!).

1. The initial excitement:


2. the reality:

Little girl list for the week

As I've finally downloaded the pictures off of the camera, there should be a flurry of kid stories soon. Here is an example of one of my favorite things to find at home when cleaning - a list made by one of the little girls (yes, there will be years of therapy in her future - sorry kid!):



UPDATE: There was a request for a transcription:

1. pool.
2. rest.
3. story.
4. nap
5. go find flowers
6. lunch.
7. resess. (recess)
8. fashin show. (fashion show)
9. ??? podirrer. (may be putter)
10. play games.
11. sing soing (sing song)
12. go to bed.
13. go to hoem (go to home)
and something about packing, I'm not sure what, between the two rows.

Dillon Beach

We've had a wonderful weekend at Dillon Beach at the mouth of Tomales Bay (just north of San Francisco). I'll write more tomorrow as there is much to be done around the home, but here are a few pictures from the weekend:

I met a guy on Craigslist...

had a long, two-hour phone conversation with him last week, and finally had a three hour fancy dinner with him two nights ago. I am back in the biofuels start-up game! I should be very excited, but it's not nearly as much fun as the old company with my friends, frustrating as they may have been. I'm really hoping I can find a way to bring them on board. Somehow. I miss them.

And to top it all off, I had another one of those you-really-should-be-doing-academia days that I'm hoping is really just me pining after that which I cannot have. Let's just say that the Genentech life looks amazingly beautiful.

I have to love myself (desperately, beyond reason)...

And, as I've mentioned before, Cary Tennis:

I have to love myself because loving myself is the only thing that stands between me and suicide....I love myself because I have to. I love myself because suicide is not an option. I love myself because other people love me and I've got no right. So I love myself immoderately and without delay. I love myself without recompense, without reason, without state sponsorship or licensing, without writing a proposal first or getting a grant, without getting dressed up first and taking a shower, without calling ahead to find out what time I should love myself, without buying a bottle of wine and some flowers first, without shining my shoes and clipping my nails...The murderous voice says do you, Cary Tennis, take this life to be your lawful welded life and I say, I do. And do you, life, take this man to be your impoverished and humble obedient slave, to breath in and out until God knows what unholy combination of stress, disease, cell mutations, poison, decay and entropy force him finally into one last dark half-breath? And life says, Yeah, sure, why not. And so we go on, me and my weary bride of life, two ragged beggars hiding behind the Safeway looking for cans and cigarette butts...But in our hearts, if we are artists, we are hungry and desperate. That is utterly normal. That is our condition. That is the condition of the creative person, to be hungry and desperate without moderation. Our job is to continue in our crazy journey with immoderate and unearned joy in our hearts and keep creating things, immoderately and without delay, desperately, beyond all reason.

Perfection costs $15,000

I think it might be that streak of perfectionism coupled with the shrinking and homogenizing of the world as mass media brings a small number of ideals to a wide number of people. From today's NYTimes:

Many women struggle with the impact of aging and pregnancy on their bodies. But the marketing of the “mommy makeover” seeks to pathologize the postpartum body, characterizing pregnancy and childbirth as maladies with disfiguring aftereffects that can be repaired with the help of scalpels and cannulae.

Another reason for the low number of posts...

I realized that the number of posts I've added lately is probably correlated with the number of cover letters I've been writing - it's all sorts of different stories about me. And because the types of jobs I'm applying for are so varied - bench positions, project management positions, and writing positions - I'm feeling positively schizophrenic. On the plus side, I have had one phone interview and another possible co-founding a company opportunity, so things are moving, moving, moving. Stay tuned!

This and that

I feel bad about not having enough kid stories lately - I've been saving up a bunch of stories to go with some photos, but that means I have to take the extraordinary step of moving the photos from the camera to the computer. Sadly, this can be a veritable Everest of a barrier for certain people. In lieu of those stories, I have one funny/sad microsoft excel bug story and one bad reactions to antidepressants story that I would like to share, and then the inevitable link to The Manolo.

Projection is how fortune telling and poetry work...

As always, from today's Cary Tennis:

This has been my experience with small, arty publications run by needy, manipulative cokeheads who treat you like their nanny: You think you are giving up material satisfaction in exchange for some journalistic and artistic freedom. This can be true to an extent. You get access to the world of artists. It is interesting socially. It confers status. It opens doors. But needy, manipulative cokeheads will always screw you over. It's their nature.

Where I feel that with a few key substitutions of words you can rework the paragraph to reflect almost any situation and justify that intense need to run away. Here's my cryptographic key:

small, arty publications = small, non-profits
needy, manipulative cokehead = needy big boss and manipulative little boss
journalistic and artisitic freedom = intellectual and scientific freedom
artists = scientists

Caught in the whitewash

Sometimes the world moves so fast in all different directions. You're in it, but one minutes you're supposed to be one kind of person, and the next minute a totally different person. And while it all swirls on around you you just pray you can keep your head up through the spray and the whitewash and not get slammed to the sand. Once your head gets under the water it can be hard to figure out which way is up.

Reading SFGate I came across this article on a man who had had an evil stepmom who found a doctor to give him a lobotomy when he was 12. The story is sad and unsettling, and hints at what it is that makes you you.

Crime doesn't pay

I love stories about either unfortunate or just plain stupid criminals. Here's one about a copper robbery gone wrong.

A word to burglars: Don't break into a building full of police officers undergoing training.

We are here to help each other

Sigh. It's another great Cary Tennis. Sigh.

Relationships are for making life better. We people get together not just for the comfort of another body, but because we can help each other through difficult times; we can improve each other's lives. We often have complementary identities -- one of us good with money, say, and one of us good with people. Things like that. One of us good at taking care of the basics, the other good at dreaming up new possibilities. Together we make things happen.

Everything is beautiful

I always thought that vision was pretty objective - that photons bounce off an object and are received by your retina, converted into an electro-chemical language your cells can understand, and made into an image by your brain. Photons seem pretty objective, the retina is objective, the conversion of photons into chemistry sounds like an objective process, but the brain...it's that pesky brain that's the problem, integrating a mass of non-vision-related signals that create an image that can be altered (both subtly and grossly) by expectation and mood.

Case 1: fat one day, thin the next. For some reason I can't explain, perhaps it's finally losing all that baby weight, I've been obsessed with bikinis. I keep surfing the Figleaves web site looking for just the right suit that will flatter my newly thin body but still minimize all those unsightly lumpies and squishies (not to mention the softy, wrinkly formless indentation that once was my bellybutton). I am too embarrassed to share how many bikinis I have bought this year because who really needs more than one? One of my long-standing obsessions is to get a bikini bottom with dangly string and/or beads hanging off of the hips (I think this is a holdover from those hip-scarf-wearing, bellydancing days). I finally bought this one. When it first arrived two weeks ago, when I was still in a sad place, I tried it on and was disgusted with myself. I couldn't believe that I kept trying to buy a two-piece suit when clearly I am too fat and too old for this. What was I thinking? I was way, way too fat. I could very clearly see all the lumps and bulges in the mirror. They were disgusting and I was contemplating returning the suit (return shipping is free), but it was too much trouble to box it up and walk the half-block from work to the post office. Cut to last Saturday, the first real day that I woke up happy in many weeks. I tried on the very same bikini bottom (and I find it unlikely that I have lost any weight - if anything my lack of exercise and indulgence of my sweet tooth make either staying the same or even gaining weight more likely), and it looked really, really good. I did NOT look fat at all. I did not even have any lumps rolling over the top of the suit. It was so odd, it's what started me wondering about how subjective sight really is, and how much my mood affects how I see myself, not just intellectually but also physically. And the scientist in me wants to see if I can devise some sort of test to evaluate my sadness levels based on how fat I think I look. I'm just saying that it's something to think about.

Case 2: flowers are suddenly beautiful. Usually once a week, the hubby and I have lunch together. I'd heard about a take-out French place that does great sandwiches and salads, so the hubby and I went there on Tuesday, although it was about a ten minute walk through some residential neighborhoods. I was amazed at how beautiful everything was, the air was warm, the sun was shining, and the flowers were all so beautiful - every single one, even the little weeds and dandelions. The colors were so rich and alive. Hubby said that he'd been reading about dysthymia, and how people sometimes think they are manic-depressive when really they are only depressive, it's just that when they finally make it to the place that everyone calls normal it's such a change that to them it seems manic. I know what they mean. Everything is suddenly and completely beautiful! (Well, downtown was still smelly and inhabited by gross people, but most everything was beautiful).

So, chickens (Heather Havrilesky, another favorite Salon writer, is always calling us readers "chickens" in an offhand and affectionate kind of way), mood controls sight, we see what we want to see, and I so enjoy having everything beautiful again. I feel kind of bad, knowing that it won't last, but I'm determined to enjoy it as much as possible now while I can.

Ode to a boy (he's so sweet!)

The boy is so sweet! He's decided to play the little boy again, coming to me for hugs and kisses. He went through a phase a few months ago where he was too cool for physical demonstrations of affection from his mother. It's really nice to have him seeking me out again, it's so sweet! I'm trying to make sure to appreciate it now, burn these kisses into my mind, in preparation for the teenage years ahead.

He's also been pretty funny in his embarrassment to see his parents' affection for each other. The other night he and I were talking about how he wants to get a LEGO mindstorm NXT (very, very cool!). We were walking down the stairs together, and hubby was in the kitchen washing dishes. When we got to the kitchen I stopped to give hubby a kiss, and the boy's monologue just kind of trailed off, he said, "uh...oh," in an uncomfortable kind of way and disappeared. I stepped into the hallway and saw him fidgeting on the stairs, bending over with his head on the stairs (downdog to those who speak yoga). You could just see his confusion about how to react. He's so sweet!

The entrepreneurial spirit

Apparently, some disgruntled Belgian tried to sell his country on eBay:

For Sale: Belgium, a Kingdom in three parts ... free premium: the king and his court (costs not included).

So many boots, not enough feet...

I really have a thing for boots! I seem to be into the cowboy-ish thing this year - I like these boots, and these boots, these here, and finally these boots. Although I don't really need them. Still, it's nice to look!

And speaking of boots, don't forget that tomorrow is International Talk Like a Pirate Day! (The boots I really, really covet are these Dolce and Gabbana ones that are pirate-esque).

Behavioral research

Apparently, the problem is middle-aged parents, not teenagers.

I think I'm in love with Cary Tennis (sorry, husband),

Today is one of the best ever Cary Tennis columns. I love his poetry and insight into the ebb and flow of feelings, power and action. It fits in with a lot of ideas that have been percolating in my mind lately.

How indeed do you shake off your parents' ignorant judgment?

You do it by standing in the hurricane. You do it by remaining conscious in the moment, by feeling but not acting.

In doing this, you realize that your parents are not robbing you of your freedom. You are just having feelings in their presence.

(Disclaimer - I realize that some people may leap to conclusions about my relationship with my parents. This article has no parallels to my relationship with my parents, but can be more meaningful if you substitute the word "other person" for parent. Plus I like the general ideas behind the details. In fact, when I read the letters in response to the column I was surprised at how many of them addressed the details of the situation since that was not what was important to me - it really seemed inconsequential.)

I hope this lasts...

I'm happy and motivated again. It feels real. It feels tenuous. I hope it lasts.

A little space of their own finally!

The girls are terribly, terribly excited. We finally bought them the bunk bed they were promised earlier this summer. I'll post a picture when it gets here (couldn't find one on the web). It's mission-style and we got the underbed drawer set also. We stopped by Target after the mattress/furniture store and the girls were thrilled to get fancy (and mathching!) new bedding in pink and turquoise.

The bunk bed buy ended up being way more expensive than we had originally planned. We got to the store around 11:30 so the kids were kind of irritating and indecisive due to hunger (and who can blame them?). So we went to TGIFriday's after an initial reconnaissance trip, and then returned to the mattress store with full bellies. Full bellies also mean sleepy people. First the hubby couldn't get out of the ijoy massage chair (I know, it sounds like something small and naughty, but maybe that's just me). Then he had to try all the grown up mattresses. And the next thing you know, the salesman sold us the super fancy floor model hubby liked best (we're not sure which model it is, but this is the brand). It's also supposed to be here on Friday, and I'm glad I won't be here for the delivery - I'm kind of embarrassed to have people see our current mattress which we bought the January before the boy was born and has seen us through many night nursings and three potty trainings. But I can't wait for the new bed!!! I'm sure it will help with my sleeping problems. Positive.

More arts and crafts

The same day I bought the girls the Martha Stewart Halloween magazine, I also found on the half-price book shelf this wonderful book on handmade cards. I highly recommend it. The girls and I may even make some of these projects on a larger scale and use them to decorate their room.

On a lighter note (whew, you're saying!)

Teachers have to remember what power they hold over the young ones. On Friday night, one of the girls - the more pixie-ish one - spent the whole evening trying to convince us to call her Hailey. I wasn't entirely sure where that came from, but then in a later conversation it all became clear. The kids were discussing what their schedules were like - what special classes then had on which days - and it turned out that the new media teacher was named Miss Hailey.

Remembering to ride the wave, or size really does matter

This is what they mean when they talk about the Eureka moment (by they I mean the legion of invisible interpreters of the human experience). It’s that moment when the mess that has been piling up for months, years really, suddenly and comprehensively is made clear. Order has come. Understanding. Eureka. Not that my actual path through life is any clearer but the motivations, the salient features that are driving the problem (the current problem, anyway), have suddenly made themselves known in such a concrete way that I can finally feel resolute. I can now craft a plan. All the really important data for the current problem is in, and they have shed a great deal of light on the much larger issues.

What are the important points?

1. Size matters. What’s important to me is the size of the ocean I’m swimming in. I need the horizons to be wide and the limits hard to see.

2. Choice matters (something I’ve known for a long time, actually). What’s important is who chooses what direction I’m swimming in. The optimal situation is that I choose.

3. I matter. What’s important is that I’m really good at choosing which direction I swim in, in response to a changing environment, and it’s important that I recognize and accept this, and that other people recognize and acknowledge this, and that I believe them.

4. Others matter. What’s important is that there are other good honu out there I can trust to help me figure out where I want to go, and there are honu who I’d like to have swim along with me. We can work out our path together and it will be good and beautiful.

5. There are sharks out there. Sometimes other honu are actually sharks. They don’t mean to be, and they are not sharks to everyone, but they are to me and the best thing for me is to run away. This is not the same as defeat, or not trying. This is accepting reality and using the materials at hand in the most appropriate and suitable ways.

6. There is no one, all encompassing solution to my pain. There is no one simple thing to do that will make me happy. Sadness and pain haunt all my paths. They always have and they always will. What’s important is to remember to ride the wave.

7. Actually, the important thing to remember is that pain is not a problem. It’s a part of me. I understand that this type of pain is not a part of everyone, so that a lot of honu view it as a problem to be solved. For me, it’s just me. Something to accept. Something to embrace. Ride the wave.

I was originally going to chronicle the details of this epiphany in plain English, but the specifics don’t really matter, this distillation is enough. Right now the metaphor is what I want to share. Later I might fill in the details.

What Australians keep in their pockets and more

I really have to put The Manolo on my regular reading schedule! In addition to this excellent post which includes a section on what Australians keep in their pockets and is well suited for those of us who maintain our youthful, high school sensibilities, there is also this comment (admittedly, not from The Manolo himself but rather from Manolo for the Big Girl) on my current guilty curiosity piece - the Britney Spears VMA fiasco - which includes this closing paragraph:

Let this be a lesson to us: A gorgeous, sluttily-dressed body can never make up for mediocrity. And: curvy women can get away with a little bit of lumpy-squishies here and there when we are confident, happy, enjoying ourselves, and giving off positive vibes.

My little Martha Stewarts

I'm sure I've mentioned before what an unstoppable force my girls are. They are a really good illustration of the words synergy and teamwork. One of them decides five minutes before lights out time that they need to redecorate their room and ten minutes later, all the furniture has been relocated complete with a lovely display of books, upright and slightly open so that you can read all the titles.

They are also very like their mother in that they love to make things and do all kinds of arts and crafts. I was at the book store and saw this and absolutely had to buy it for them. An hour after I handed it to the offspring one of the girls approached her father, lovingly clutching the magazine to her chest, and declared (with those bright, round eyes) that thanks to this magazine, this Halloween our house will be even spookier than last year.

Mute

Here's what I was originally going to post this morning. Maybe its not so scary, now that I've remembered to laugh today.

Sometimes I think mornings are the most difficult time of the day. Words form in my head, but they can't find their way out of my mouth. My tongue is miserly and won’t let them go. Sometimes they are content to remain caught in my mouth. They can find their way to my hands and fill up the white of the written page. But other times they lodge in my chest where their frantic attempts to burst free cause pain. I can feel the rounded curves and the sharp edges of the letters pushing and poking at my ribs. They say to my hands, just dig into the chest and rip us out. Set us free.

Manolo says, do not be the Shannon Doherty

I thought about posting a commentary on the poem of the day post but decided it might be too much of a downer. Instead, I share with you my love for The Manolo via his Gallery of The Horrors. Make sure to read the descriptions (I have to remember to always check this blog when I am out of sorts). Here is a choice excerpt:

Manolo says, here you see the Dansko Teton, the shoe that its makers describe as the "men's sport clog".
Perhaps, like the Manolo, you are wondering what is the sport that the mens play while wearing the clog? Undoubtedly it must be something that it requires the ability to quickly kick off the shoe.

Poem of the day

In the Desert, by Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.

I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter---bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

Figleaves update

If you recall, I recently posted about this great deal I got on a swimsuit I've been coveting from Figleaves. It arrived last night, and while I feel uncomfortable posting a picture of me wearing it, even headless, I'm very, very pleased with the suit. It is really cute AND I think it flatters me.

Pop culture intrusion...

It's terribly embarrassing but I have to admit to a morbid fascination with the latest Brittany Spears fiasco. It's really hard to avoid, even if you don't have MTV, and my interpretation is that you have to feel sorry for this poor, pressured young woman who is clearly having a very public breakdown/burn out. The part that I find very fascinating about this latest incident is the way a lot of people are casting aspersions on her appearance, particularly her stomach flab. Having issues with my own body image, I'm always interested in what other people find fat/attractive/sexy. I look at the pictures of Brittany Spears from this incident and, while she doesn't look cut and well defined, I also don't think she looks particularly fat (go new healthy-body-image-embracing me!). I particularly like these two letters (here and here, particularly the first paragraph) from the Salon article I linked to above. And while one can go on for hours debating how to convey healthy body images to women and the worthyness of such an endeavor, I like to at least collect examples where people talk sincerely about the sexyness and beauty of real bodies.

UPDATE: The second link to the Salon article letters was wrong. I've fixed it now.

Sigh...

I just got this email.

sigh.

They're taking over...

A YouTube follow up to the roomba post. If only it went a few frames longer.

Aruba, Bahamas, come on pretty Mama...

So of course I had to go to the Xavier University website. Their description of their facilities is not very promising:

Xavier University campus in Aruba is 10,000+ square feet of fully secured compound, with nighttime and weekend security officers on site. [emphasis is mine]

Still, a girl can dream, can't she?

First day of school

Foolish me, I forgot to post the traditional first day of school pictures! Here they are, two days late. So far, so good - the kids are pretty pleased with their teachers. Although the boy wrote an essay yesterday that basically complained about how little he gets to see all the major male figures in his life - his Dad, his Uncle and his Grandfather. Poor little guy.

Latest knitting project

Here's my latest knitting project, from this great knitting book. I don't have the patience to finish a whole sweater, so I look for smallish projects. I'm pretty pleased with the results, although I'll have to take in the back - it stretched out quite a bit after I assembled everything.

Morning thoughts

There was a light sprinkling of ash dusting the car this morning. An 18,000 acre fire in Henry Coe State Park (South Bay) has been burning for several days and it's turning the skies muddy with a hint of red. And sending ash into the air. I'm worried about the kids breathing.

I'm also thinking about Aruba. One of those crazy off-shore medical schools has assistant professor openings. Seriously.

UPDATE: It turns out that our murky skies are not just from the fire in Henry Coe but also from one to the north in Greenville, just north of Sacramento.

I must have boots with flames!

My friend went on a motorcycle ride to Fort Bragg as part of her birthday festivities. I want her boots!