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!

Those older, innocent times

Surely this isn't just today's slang?

Cabo

I know that Cabo just got hit by a hurricane, but the water temp is 87 degrees! 87!

Who's going to watch the kids while the hubby and I go next week? The week after? Anyone?

Maybe I really am crazy

I've never been able to decide if I have an actual eating disorder or if its all part of the irritable bowel package. Part of the problem is that I don't think I actually binge, so it doesn't really sound like bulimia, but this describes my situation better - frighteningly so -because, as I said earlier, I don't binge, I tend to feel full after what looks to me like a reasonable amount of food, and the purging part is comforting and feels like a reasonable physiological response to the signals my body is sending my brain. And I don't look on it as a problem, although I do notice that these needs arise when I'm under more stress. Isn't it frightening that throwing up is comforting to me?

My figleaves addiction

A bathing suit I have been coveting at Figleaves just went on sale - originally $123 for the top and $100 for the bottoms - the sale price I got was $36 for the top and $32 for the bottom. And, when I went back to the site to get the link, the price of the top was $86 and the bottom $72. Superscore! (It's the little victories that make life bearable).

Who knew household appliances could be so much fun?

If this isn't pornography, I don't know what is:

This vacuum cleaner sucks -- regularly, on schedule, hard and with nimble poise...

Of course I want one. Roomba, that is (just in case you choose not to follow the link and end up with the wrong idea of me).

Why do I love Prufrock so?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

Quote of the day

As many of you probably know, I love Cary Tennis and his "Since you asked.." column at salon. I love his often poetic and orthogonal responses to letter writers (here is one and then another of my current favorites, but there are many, many more). His response to today's letter writer is not the most poetic, but it is good, sound advice that I find particularly relevant:

So take some time to prepare. Preparation is not the same thing as delay. It doesn't mean putting it off until you feel ready. It means setting a date, making a commitment and then planning fully and well.

My life as a cog

This job hunting in industry thing is frustrating. Its hard to look for a job as a cog when you had expectations of both a) running your own research project and b) starting your own company. So many dreams went down the drain in the past year. And for dream "a" it was the second time the plug got pulled on that one. So hard to readjust your expectations down. And to know that you only have more of the same to look forward to, that its all hard-scrabble for someone else and never hard-scrabble for yourself.

I was thinking recently that my food allergies are a pretty good metaphor for how I'm feeling right now - so many things I want but I just can't have. (And sure, I understand that this is true for everyone, but what therapy has given me is the permission to acknowledge my feelings, to accept that, yes, I have a right to feel frustrated about this. My life is about my story and not about somebody else's story, my feelings and not about somebody else's feelings. Its perfectly understandable that I am frustrated, and its okay. Feeling guilty that I am being foolish only makes things worse, and is also not true.).