Chez Haggis received a lovely newsletter on our doorstep over the weekend from the august Tony Alamo, leader of the New Jerusalem Churches Worldwide.
Oh boy! I read it and could not wait to share its gospel of good news, hope, and love in Jesus Christ. For example:
"What hope can be had by the unsaved, defiant, sinful wretches of this age, those who reject God's beloved Son, Christ Jesus...those who refuse to follow God's life-giving words of instruction, but instead worship false religions such as Hinduisim, Shintoism, Mohammedanism, Buddhism, Satanism, Catholicism, and every other 'ism' including Judaism (because it rejects Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior the Messiah)...."
Who in the hell still says, "Mohammedanism?" And who puts Satanism with other religions? Geez, this guy is a real peach. And just when you thought it couldn't get worse, get a load of this little piece of God's Good News--
"God is allowing [these plagues] to happen throughout the world, just as He allowed Titus, Babylon and Nazi Germany to overpower his own chosen people. I've said this in the past, and I'll say it again: If God has allowed such things to happen to his own highly chosen people, what do you think he's going to do to you Gentiles, those of you who worship idols and commit other abominable sins?...You'd think the people of Indonesia and India would wake up, as well as the people of Florida...All of them have suffered terribly from earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, pestilence and many other plagues..."
Can you feel the power of the joy of the Holy Spirit?! Woo Hee!!! I see the light! I feel the love! May you feel it too. Unless you have been ravaged by natural disasters, in which case you deserve all the pestilence you get.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Good Clean City Livin'
The Baby Daddy and I were chatting yesterday about how important it is for the Bambina to grow up in DC, to have a slice of the world at her fingertips, to have the Smithsonian museums, the Capitol at the end of her street, the political vibe, the wonderful parks and neighborhoods, all of the things that make DC such a neat place to reside.
No sooner had we said that, while walking through one of the "wonderful parks," than I looked over to see a homeless dude lying prostrate on a park bench--JERKING IT. Seriously! At 2pm! Broad daylight! Just layin' down, takin' care of business. Although she was completely oblivious, we hustled the Bambina out of there ASAP. Not to mention ourselves!
As I thought/laughed about/was disgusted by it later, I realized that there was a silver lining, perhaps two.
One: At least he didn't whip it out. All of the activity was going on "indoors" so there was no full frontal situation. Just a whole lot of "activity" akin to someone tucking a shirt into his pants---over and over again while grunting. Bleeaaah.
Two: Not that I want my child anywhere near the onanism section of any park, but maybe there is some value in life to having been surrounded by total f'ing weirdos as a child, in that you are far better able to deal with, ignore, or smack down the weirdos who will find you later no matter where you live.
In either case, however, the next time it happens I'm going to tell him to move the party behind a bush or something. yeah right! The only thing you should do when confronted with a man engaged in public "self-love" is engage in a swift dash in the opposite direction. But you already knew that.
No sooner had we said that, while walking through one of the "wonderful parks," than I looked over to see a homeless dude lying prostrate on a park bench--JERKING IT. Seriously! At 2pm! Broad daylight! Just layin' down, takin' care of business. Although she was completely oblivious, we hustled the Bambina out of there ASAP. Not to mention ourselves!
As I thought/laughed about/was disgusted by it later, I realized that there was a silver lining, perhaps two.
One: At least he didn't whip it out. All of the activity was going on "indoors" so there was no full frontal situation. Just a whole lot of "activity" akin to someone tucking a shirt into his pants---over and over again while grunting. Bleeaaah.
Two: Not that I want my child anywhere near the onanism section of any park, but maybe there is some value in life to having been surrounded by total f'ing weirdos as a child, in that you are far better able to deal with, ignore, or smack down the weirdos who will find you later no matter where you live.
In either case, however, the next time it happens I'm going to tell him to move the party behind a bush or something. yeah right! The only thing you should do when confronted with a man engaged in public "self-love" is engage in a swift dash in the opposite direction. But you already knew that.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Happy Fourth!
To all my American readers: Happy Fourth of July! To steal the sign on Murky Coffee Capitol Hill's door, "Closed for Independence Day. Happy Independing!"
If you have not already, you should read Jeff Shaara's The Glorious Cause. It is a completely riveting and interesting piece of historical fiction around the Revolutionary War. What makes the book--and the history--so fascinating is your realization at several points during the narrative that we d*mn near lost about 10 times throughout the course of the war. Every time, some piece of dumb luck or covert operation or critical turning-point decision by George Washington, et.al. would turn the tide. My fellow Americans, we are all here by the grace of God and luck and chance and good judgment and strategy and so many tiny decisions and occurrences that you almost can't bear to have the knowledge that it all could easily have gone so differently. Otherwise, we'd be neighbours--drinking tea, singing God Save The Queen, and naming our children Desmond, Emma and Rupert.
For my Canadian readers, we're sorry we're such crap neighbors sometimes. Please don't call the police tonight when our fireworks are too loud. We didn't call on your last week for Canada Day. (Do we get any points for knowing that it was Canada Day?!)
For my British readers, admit it. Ruling America was "The Most Fun You Never Want To Have Again." It was a rollicking good time until it wasn't, simply because we're clearly an un-ruleable nation. And we don't like marmite. Not even a little. It would never work out between us.
The Haggis' July 4th activities will involve attendance at Dogs 'n Hogs, the annual barbecue/fundraiser held by a dear friend here in DC. It's a boozefest free-for-all (with hot dogs and pork barbecue, hence the name), the only admission requirement is that you bring all of your spare change. The person with the most spare change gets to name the charity to which everyone's spare change will be donated. It's the easiest way to justify drinking ludicrous quantities of alcohol, and hey--it's for a good cause!
Well, as the sign said: "Happy Independing!"
If you have not already, you should read Jeff Shaara's The Glorious Cause. It is a completely riveting and interesting piece of historical fiction around the Revolutionary War. What makes the book--and the history--so fascinating is your realization at several points during the narrative that we d*mn near lost about 10 times throughout the course of the war. Every time, some piece of dumb luck or covert operation or critical turning-point decision by George Washington, et.al. would turn the tide. My fellow Americans, we are all here by the grace of God and luck and chance and good judgment and strategy and so many tiny decisions and occurrences that you almost can't bear to have the knowledge that it all could easily have gone so differently. Otherwise, we'd be neighbours--drinking tea, singing God Save The Queen, and naming our children Desmond, Emma and Rupert.
For my Canadian readers, we're sorry we're such crap neighbors sometimes. Please don't call the police tonight when our fireworks are too loud. We didn't call on your last week for Canada Day. (Do we get any points for knowing that it was Canada Day?!)
For my British readers, admit it. Ruling America was "The Most Fun You Never Want To Have Again." It was a rollicking good time until it wasn't, simply because we're clearly an un-ruleable nation. And we don't like marmite. Not even a little. It would never work out between us.
The Haggis' July 4th activities will involve attendance at Dogs 'n Hogs, the annual barbecue/fundraiser held by a dear friend here in DC. It's a boozefest free-for-all (with hot dogs and pork barbecue, hence the name), the only admission requirement is that you bring all of your spare change. The person with the most spare change gets to name the charity to which everyone's spare change will be donated. It's the easiest way to justify drinking ludicrous quantities of alcohol, and hey--it's for a good cause!
Well, as the sign said: "Happy Independing!"
Mama Knows Best
Or something like that...
Maybe everyone feels this way at some point in their lives, but I think mothers especially get hit with it on a regular basis. It's that feeling after you become a mother that you have somehow morphed in people's minds into The Neverending Need-Meeting Machine for every person in your social orbit.
Perhaps you know what I mean by that. You feel kind of like the Wants and Needs Delivery System for your loved ones. Where are my shoes?--ask Mom. Why isn't that fixed yet?--ask Mom. What about the doctor's appointment?--ask Mom. We are out of milk;--ask Mom. Does she know her alphabet yet? Why not?--ask Mom. Do you think she's pooped in her diaper?--ask Mom. I really need someone to listen.--Ask Mom.
My other Mom friends and I have been commiserating at the very subtle but very real change that occurs in your life when people get comfortable with seeing you as The Mom. Perhaps it's a sign of your family's profound confidence in you, but the subconscious belief that Mom Has It Covered, while in some ways ennobling and encouraging, is mostly an invitation to performance anxiety like you've never experienced. You want to be that Mom, the one who can do it all and Have It Covered, but in reality you know you aren't and can't and, quite frankly, don't want to be.
Primarily because such a Mom does not exist without a Ritalin addiction (see last season's Desperate Housewives).
Secondly because sometimes 14 hours of meeting my family's needs (heresy of heresies) is just not enough to make me feel like my presence on the earth mattered today.
And thirdly because sometimes it's nice for someone else to JUST THIS ONCE cover it for you simply because it's a nice thing to do and so you might actually be able to leave the house today feeling like an actual woman: with blow-dried hair and shaved legs and nicely nail-polished toes, all of which [believe me] are the first things to go when you are taking 3 minute showers and getting back to baby ASAP.
It's not that fathers do not have their own set of pressures related to parenthood. But I'm the mom and that's all I can speak to. Besides, mothers have the weight of History and Expectation upon them in ways both large and small. If the father comes home late from work and still wants to go work out to stay in shape, no one questions his commitment to his children. If the mother wants to go work out after the father comes home, and therefore misses dinner and bedtime with her child, people wonder what kind of mother would not be present for such important daily rituals simply for reasons of vanity, like exercising. Then the MOM wonders what kind of mom she is for missing such important daily rituals. So it's a combination of the differences in societal expectations for women and men in parenthood, as well as the expectations that women place upon ourselves and each other.
There was recently a very in-depth article in the Washington Post about career women who become either full- or part-time stay-at-home mothers. The thesis? Bringing the same level of perfection and competitiveness to your family as you brought to your job will kill you. Holding yourself to your zero-error rate "at work" standards while you are at home will kill you. Competing with other women for achievement via your "product" will kill you and your kids. In short? You cannot possibly be all things to all people, and you cannot possibly always have that daily sense of project completion and gratification you get at work.
After reading that article, I have tried to get some peace with the fact that I am trying to work while trying to nurture my most important priority: the bambina, and quite frankly ending up exhausted and feeling like I'm doing neither job very well. I found myself almost longing for the life my mom told me about when she stayed home with us till we all went to school, where she said she was so desperate for adult conversation by the end of the day that did not mention children, that she wanted to scream sometimes. When she told me that story I felt simultaneously bad for, and grateful for her. Now I think about that story and think, "well at least you were feeling inadequate in only ONE area! At least you weren't also missing important client deliverable dates and struggling to find 10 minutes to speak on the phone with a client without Elmo singing in the background! You had it EASY!" Not the case, I know. But tempting to believe nonetheless.
I guess what I have concluded is the following:
You cannot have a happy, engaged, curious, active kid and a spotless home (for those of us who clean it ourselves).
You cannot measure your child against anyone else's child to see his developmental progress.
You cannot every day simultaneously feel fulfilled as an individual and as a mother. You have to pick the day and time when you will get to feel the former, because being the latter is, by definition, all about fulfilling the needs of your kids. Assuming you can feel both every day is a one-way ticket to daily two-wine lunches, a prozac dependency, and/or a truly frustrating and quietly desperate existence on this planet.
There are no quantitative metrics or benchmarks, really, for being a good mother, short of avoiding school expulsions, jail sentences and (as we say in DC about political black holes to avoid) any situation involving dead women or live boys.
Other than that--to be a good mother and a happy, fulfilled woman--all you can do is block out the real or perceived judgments of others, lose the expectations in your mind and in your ears, follow your own heart and head, and--as Mom always said--Just Do Your Best.
Maybe everyone feels this way at some point in their lives, but I think mothers especially get hit with it on a regular basis. It's that feeling after you become a mother that you have somehow morphed in people's minds into The Neverending Need-Meeting Machine for every person in your social orbit.
Perhaps you know what I mean by that. You feel kind of like the Wants and Needs Delivery System for your loved ones. Where are my shoes?--ask Mom. Why isn't that fixed yet?--ask Mom. What about the doctor's appointment?--ask Mom. We are out of milk;--ask Mom. Does she know her alphabet yet? Why not?--ask Mom. Do you think she's pooped in her diaper?--ask Mom. I really need someone to listen.--Ask Mom.
My other Mom friends and I have been commiserating at the very subtle but very real change that occurs in your life when people get comfortable with seeing you as The Mom. Perhaps it's a sign of your family's profound confidence in you, but the subconscious belief that Mom Has It Covered, while in some ways ennobling and encouraging, is mostly an invitation to performance anxiety like you've never experienced. You want to be that Mom, the one who can do it all and Have It Covered, but in reality you know you aren't and can't and, quite frankly, don't want to be.
Primarily because such a Mom does not exist without a Ritalin addiction (see last season's Desperate Housewives).
Secondly because sometimes 14 hours of meeting my family's needs (heresy of heresies) is just not enough to make me feel like my presence on the earth mattered today.
And thirdly because sometimes it's nice for someone else to JUST THIS ONCE cover it for you simply because it's a nice thing to do and so you might actually be able to leave the house today feeling like an actual woman: with blow-dried hair and shaved legs and nicely nail-polished toes, all of which [believe me] are the first things to go when you are taking 3 minute showers and getting back to baby ASAP.
It's not that fathers do not have their own set of pressures related to parenthood. But I'm the mom and that's all I can speak to. Besides, mothers have the weight of History and Expectation upon them in ways both large and small. If the father comes home late from work and still wants to go work out to stay in shape, no one questions his commitment to his children. If the mother wants to go work out after the father comes home, and therefore misses dinner and bedtime with her child, people wonder what kind of mother would not be present for such important daily rituals simply for reasons of vanity, like exercising. Then the MOM wonders what kind of mom she is for missing such important daily rituals. So it's a combination of the differences in societal expectations for women and men in parenthood, as well as the expectations that women place upon ourselves and each other.
There was recently a very in-depth article in the Washington Post about career women who become either full- or part-time stay-at-home mothers. The thesis? Bringing the same level of perfection and competitiveness to your family as you brought to your job will kill you. Holding yourself to your zero-error rate "at work" standards while you are at home will kill you. Competing with other women for achievement via your "product" will kill you and your kids. In short? You cannot possibly be all things to all people, and you cannot possibly always have that daily sense of project completion and gratification you get at work.
After reading that article, I have tried to get some peace with the fact that I am trying to work while trying to nurture my most important priority: the bambina, and quite frankly ending up exhausted and feeling like I'm doing neither job very well. I found myself almost longing for the life my mom told me about when she stayed home with us till we all went to school, where she said she was so desperate for adult conversation by the end of the day that did not mention children, that she wanted to scream sometimes. When she told me that story I felt simultaneously bad for, and grateful for her. Now I think about that story and think, "well at least you were feeling inadequate in only ONE area! At least you weren't also missing important client deliverable dates and struggling to find 10 minutes to speak on the phone with a client without Elmo singing in the background! You had it EASY!" Not the case, I know. But tempting to believe nonetheless.
I guess what I have concluded is the following:
You cannot have a happy, engaged, curious, active kid and a spotless home (for those of us who clean it ourselves).
You cannot measure your child against anyone else's child to see his developmental progress.
You cannot every day simultaneously feel fulfilled as an individual and as a mother. You have to pick the day and time when you will get to feel the former, because being the latter is, by definition, all about fulfilling the needs of your kids. Assuming you can feel both every day is a one-way ticket to daily two-wine lunches, a prozac dependency, and/or a truly frustrating and quietly desperate existence on this planet.
There are no quantitative metrics or benchmarks, really, for being a good mother, short of avoiding school expulsions, jail sentences and (as we say in DC about political black holes to avoid) any situation involving dead women or live boys.
Other than that--to be a good mother and a happy, fulfilled woman--all you can do is block out the real or perceived judgments of others, lose the expectations in your mind and in your ears, follow your own heart and head, and--as Mom always said--Just Do Your Best.
Lose the Adjective
Before I even begin my mini-rant about the meaninglessness of the Live 8 concerts, I just have to offer, for your review, the following two photo captions about celebrities attending the concerts:
"Live 8 attracted plenty of non-singing celebs - such as Gwyneth Paltrow and daughter Apple who turned up to Hyde Park to support Coldplay...."
Contrast this with:
"Angelina Jolie arrives with her adopted son Maddox at the concert at the Eden Project in Cornwall."
It absolutely irritates me beyond words that they qualified Maddox as Jolie's "adopted" son. Not just her "son," which he is, but her "adopted" son. Why the necessity for that adjective? Because he doesn't look like her in the photo and some stupid person who inexplicably cares might actually wonder, "Well, shucks! He looks durn near Oriental, durn't he?! He don't look nuthin' like her! Where'd HE come from? I wish they'd tell me where he came from!"
By that logic, why is Apple not Gwyneth Paltrow's "created by sexual intercourse with Chris Martin and delivered vaginally" daughter?
"Live 8 attracted plenty of non-singing celebs - such as Gwyneth Paltrow and daughter Apple who turned up to Hyde Park to support Coldplay...."
Contrast this with:
"Angelina Jolie arrives with her adopted son Maddox at the concert at the Eden Project in Cornwall."
It absolutely irritates me beyond words that they qualified Maddox as Jolie's "adopted" son. Not just her "son," which he is, but her "adopted" son. Why the necessity for that adjective? Because he doesn't look like her in the photo and some stupid person who inexplicably cares might actually wonder, "Well, shucks! He looks durn near Oriental, durn't he?! He don't look nuthin' like her! Where'd HE come from? I wish they'd tell me where he came from!"
By that logic, why is Apple not Gwyneth Paltrow's "created by sexual intercourse with Chris Martin and delivered vaginally" daughter?
Saturday, July 02, 2005
SDO's Successor
See Alex's post on SoundFuryetc for a discussion of who might be the next pick to replace SDO on the court. He says it better than I do, so why replicate all that typing just to hear my own voice (finger?), right?
Enjoy:
SoundFuryEtc.
Enjoy:
SoundFuryEtc.
Look at Me, I'm Sandra D...
I'm too bummed to write much about this right now. Stay tuned. Now GWB will have TWO chances to pack the court with right wing nutcases. But I've gotta give it to my girl Sandra D for stealing Rehnquist's retirement thunder.
Okay, more later after a few daiquiris to blur the reality of the situation....
Okay, more later after a few daiquiris to blur the reality of the situation....
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